


Take Another Step

by mc1303



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mild Violence against monsters, Slow Burn, Violence, ZADF, ZaDr, mild violence, probably, we be fighting monsters guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 54,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24963685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mc1303/pseuds/mc1303
Summary: Dib notices Zim suddenly acting strange and investigates, learning that Zim isn't entirely as hopelessly obsessed with invasion as he thought he was.
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 164





	1. Are You Okay?

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of ZADR Revival Week (circa 2020) I'm finally posting the first chapter of this new fic! I've procrastinated it long enough, honestly. I don't have a set date for chapter two, but I hope you guys enjoy!

Dib shook his nerves out once more. He had spotted Zim on his way out of the school in the throng of students leaving en masse. He had turned down the wrong street to go home—an oddity that Dib hadn’t missed, and Gaz had groaned about when he pointed it out. Dib figured it was better to get in a fight with Zim than be beaten to a pulp by her. Zim at least would leave him able to wobble home; he wasn’t so sure when it came to Gaz. He only knew she had the hospital on speed dial.

As it stood, Zim hadn’t noticed him yet and Dib intended to keep it that way. He ducked behind bushes and fence posts and trees—anything and everything he could use for cover. With his still small frame, that was easier to do. It was hampered a little by his height. Dib hated to crouch, but years of doing so in the bushes outside Zim’s base had made him adept at doing so in a second behind whatever cover he might have. Dib began to notice that they’d started getting near the park, where the neighborhoods stated to thin out. Zim stopped at the park gate and whipped around, catching Dib in his sights before Dib could duck behind anything. Dib pretended, for his own sanity, that it didn’t just look like Zim’s head had done a near perfect 180 like an owl. 

They stood staring at one another in a standoff. Dib was running rapid fire through all his options. He didn’t have a lot. He could come clean and admit he had been following Zim; or pretend he hadn’t been and look like a moron and an obvious liar. He also started to think about all the ways he could dodge Zim’s claws. To his surprise, Zim never made a move against him. He only glared. 

A glare that was an assault on its own. Dib felt a bead of sweat drop off his temple.

“Um—”

“You are terrible at stealth,” Zim says. Dib stammers; caught up in the offense of the statement.

“I am not!” he shouts, taking a step forward before stopping himself. He really couldn’t get within range of Zim’s claws. He knew better than that. Zim gave him a look. A Look that said ‘you are a liar’. “…I’m NOT.”

“Perhaps to other humans. I could hear you loud and clear once the noise of the school fell away,” Zim says, waving him off as he turned back around. 

Dib blanched at him, starting to follow, but making sure that he kept a good distance the entire walk. It wasn’t particularly unusual that Zim blew him off like that, but it had been a while since the last time Zim had been bold enough to turn his back on Dib without checking somehow to be sure Dib wasn’t hiding a weapon in his pockets. Dib noticed Zim was starting to eye up the trees.

“You’re just saying that because you want me to stop following you.” Dib retorts.

“I do, but no, that’s not why. I recognize your heartbeat,” Zim says blandly. Dib almost didn’t catch that. Almost. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact Zim could hear his heartbeat, much less that he could differentiate it from everyone else’s. It was something Dib was sure he could have gone his entire life without knowing and been just as happy.

“That’s not horrifying,” he says instead. Zim’s antennae twitched under his wig and he looked back with a smug grin. Dib stared at him, knowing that Zim could hear his heart rate pick up slightly, and the bastard of an alien just turned back around without saying a word. “So, what are you doing all the way out here? Are you trying to get lost again? Start an alien cult? Got a bomb out here?”

“None of those things, and you do not need to care. I just wanted to get away for a while. Not that you care to allow that,” Zim says plainly. Dib grit his teeth at the jab. Zim’s lack of raising voice was somehow more aggravating than if he’d been yelling at Dib to leave him alone. Dib was used to Zim screaming at him. He knew how to respond to a screaming alien.

“Yeah, RIGHT. You’re lying.” Dib declares, taking a few adventurous steps forward.

Zim immediately spun around to take a swipe at him. Dib brought his arm up, blocking the majority of Zim’s swipe. The claws caught at his sleeve and Zim gripped the fabric, bringing Dib forward with one harsh tug on his forearm. The fabric that had stopped the claws from tearing up Dib’s arm served next to hold him place. The tightness around his wrist meant he couldn’t just slip his hand out and abandon the coat. Zim’s grip was strong enough that the constriction started to hurt, and Dib wanted to squirm out of the hold despite knowing he couldn’t. He also knew that would only prompt Zim to hold his arm tighter and he didn’t want to start losing blood flow.

Dib kept his free arm away, primed and ready to strike once Zim made any motion towards him. Zim stared at him a moment as if debating if he should proceed. He scowled and shoved Dib away. Dib stumbled, catching himself on the wall of the park, and rubbed at the sore spot on his forearm. It would definitely bruise—he could already feel it. Zim was already walking away from him, running his fingers along the side of the wall. Dib cautiously walked after him.

“Then what are you doing out here?” he asks again.

“Getting some air, as you humans say,” Zim says.

The irritation was starting to invade his tone. Dib was sure his antennae were vibrating under the wig. He would like to see it—it was always fascinating to see the antenna show more of what Zim was feeling or thinking than the alien’s own face or body would ever convey. Zim would make a killing at poker and Dib didn’t believe him. 

He was cursing himself for not packing something to use if this happened. It was always a hit or miss when he made the decision every morning. He always kept a water gun in his bag or his coat for emergencies, but he’d neglected to grab anything else that morning. He’d been hoping for a break for a day, and Zim had curiously allowed that up until he broke his usual pattern after leaving school. He hadn’t really been involved in anything the entire day, even suspiciously missing lunch only to pop up in history the next period. As much as Dib hated to admit it, he hadn’t been able to find anything out of the ordinary when he had patrolled the halls over the next few periods when he could.

“Since when do you care to do that?” Dib asks. 

Zim’s claws started to scrape against the stone, carving lines into the rock. Zim didn’t answer, walking until he hit the entrance and turned inside. Dib poked his head around the corner, catching sight of Zim already at the tree line. Dib made it most of the way before Zim turned to him. In the shadows of the trees Dib could see the glow of Zim’s eyes past the contacts, just barely poking through. It caused a ‘demonic possession’ type of vibe and Dib stopped in his advancement on instinct. He suddenly felt uncertain. Zim was uncharacteristically stoic and it was throwing Dib off.

“I’m just getting some air. Go home,” Zim orders. Dib stood silent, unable to think of a response. Zim sounded… tired.  
Did Irkens need to sleep? 

Dib snapped from his musings when Zim had disappeared into the bushes. Dib watched the forest uncertainly. He wasn’t sure if he could trust Zim wouldn’t try to pull something. He waited at the tree line for a few hours before he figured it was safe enough.

He slipped into the bushes slowly, trying to remain silent. It didn’t take long to figure out that he had no idea how to move stealthily among trees and bushes. The branches of both were brushing against him even when he tried to move around them in the most ridiculous contortions. His boots on the leaves and twigs were no better. He really wished he’d packed his tree stand even though it would be of no help in tracking Zim down. It was different than tracking down a Big Foot or another creature that might wander into Dib’s clearing or past his cameras. Zim knew how to avoid Dib by now.

Regardless, Dib kept going straight. He had no idea how to track if Zim had gone anywhere else until he spotted an unusual indent in the bark of the trees. Three to four of the markings were on trees within a similar distance in bathes. Dib saw it bank right and started to follow. He broke out into a deer trail and looked down each direction. To his left he spotted another set of markings. He made a note that he’d have to turn around and go straight again to leave, just to be sure he didn’t get lost, before he went ahead.

He was looking up more than he was looking down. He tripped or stumbled more than once. Finally, mercifully, he broke out into a clearing. Dib stepped back immediately, spotting one of the PAK legs still bent over and hovering in the air just past the center of the clearing. It wasn’t a big clearing by any means. A giant log was off center in it. A small piece of missed history that might explain some of the changed terrain that allowed the grass to overtake the forest floor before any other foliage could.

Dib peeked around the tree he chose to hide behind and saw Zim’s PAK and head over the log’s body as if he were leaning against it. He was looking up at the sky. His PAK’s legs were just poised around him like the dead legs of a spider. It was unsettling to say the least. That said, he couldn’t see any device, any ship, or anything at all suspicious in the field. Dib ducked back behind the tree, ultimately confused. He started down the trail again, noting how it was getting dark. He could check again tomorrow.

By the time Zim had pushed back through the bushes the sky had gotten dark.

Zim hunched his shoulders, the PAK pressing against his back painfully. He let it, clenching his fists more out of the rage he felt as opposed to the pain. He ran one hand alone the stone wall, the claws cutting deep into the stones. He kept his other hand clenched. The pain kept him grounded. It caught his mind and kept it from free falling. Regardless, he started to shake. 

~*~

Gir watched him silently. The robot had been bouncing off the walls and screaming for hours now. Zim hadn’t even moved in that entire time. Gir tilted his head. Zim had done this before. He seemed to zone out for hours on end, particularly after bad calls with The Tallest or others in the Empire. The difference here was that Gir could tell Zim was, in reality, intensely focused on the screen in front of him. His claws dug deeper into the metal of the desk the longer the Irken symbol flashed on and off the screen.

The screen had been blank, blinking the Irken symbol as the call was left unanswered yet again, for just as many hours as Gir had been wearing himself down. Typically, if Gir crashed into Zim, he’d let himself fall to avoid any injury to himself or Gir. It was utilitarian—so he wouldn’t have to waste time repairing himself or the hyperactive ball of metal that had flung itself into him. Gir knew that was why Zim let himself be tackled. Gir had joined Zim in staring at the screen when one such attempt at a tackle hadn’t moved the Irken an inch. Zim’s body had bene completely rigid, like a statue. Gir’s momentum, as much as he had built it up, hadn’t caused much in the way of disrupting his Master. Currently, Gir was looking at Zim and wondering if he should do something.

Zim bit his lip until it bled. He didn’t want to admit it.

The call would go unanswered.

~*~

Dib had been acing all his classes, surprisingly. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a genius—he was his father’s son, after all—but rather he was surprised that Zim’s absence wasn’t more of a distraction for him. He was somewhat distracted because it was unusual and that did inevitably put him on edge. A very hard edge that made it feel like his teeth were grating and he was standing on the edge of a cliff. Like the sound of nails on a chalk board and the feeling of weight being taken from him before he plummeted. He hadn’t found anything in the clearing the following morning. He hadn’t found anything in the following day, either.

By Friday he couldn’t take it any longer. If it weren’t for his sensors outside Zim’s base indicating he hadn’t left, Dib wouldn’t have been able to sleep. It was strange for Zim to disappear for days without a peep. It was strange for him to not make a peep the remainder of the week. It was strange and even unsettling that he supposedly hadn’t left his base in all that time, either. Any shift in the alien’s usual behavior warranted investigation. Dib simply had surmised that jumping down Zim’s throat about it wasn’t worth failing out of school.

But; he was free for the day now, and Dib made the walk to Zim’s base as easily as breathing. He didn’t need to focus for his feet to bring him there any longer. He had zoned out, thinking about the myriad of different plans Zim had probably been planning for the last few days, and not popping back into reality until he could see Zim’s base as he entered the cul-de-sac. He tried to calm his nerves. The familiar fear of going into this particular lion’s den was something he never was able to shake. As exciting as it was, it was also a huge risk every time. He knew he might not come out one day. He understood Zim wasn’t un-willing to kill him if he felt the need. Dib was surprised he’d lived this long. He had a fair number of scars to show for their battles. A few from lasers—that his Dad was more perceptive to than the usual odd scar—alongside all the claw marks. The latter he could at least explain away with monster hunting and running into the occasional feral animal. But the lasers’ marks had been harder to brush off. “It was a failed experiment” was luckily enough to get his father to back off.

Dib cautioned himself as he neared the front fence. He saw the gnomes standing at attention as usual. He stuck his foot into the lawn’s perimeter, toeing inside the property line, just to be safe. The gnomes didn’t respond. They didn’t even turn their heads. Dib took a cautious step inside. Still nothing. He took a bold leap, kicking one over and jumping back onto the sidewalk.

Nothing.

That was either very, very good; or very, very bad. Dib wasn’t sure which he would prefer. Obviously if Zim had up and left that meant Earth was safe; but then, Dib assumed the base would be gone with him. So, either the alien had seriously dropped his maintenance duties, had gotten very engrossed in one of his projects, or he was dead. 

Dib decided to ignore the wandering possibilities and made his way to the door. He tapped it with his foot and the door swung open without resistance. Dib started to feel a ‘horror movie’ vibe coming on. He knew for most sensible people who watched horror as much as he had, he should have turned and gone home. Dib had already concluded that he was never the sensible type when he’d made the decision to possibly chase an alien for the rest of his life.

He stepped cautiously into the darkened house. The cords leading into the ceiling felt eerie-er than usual. The darkness was a definitive contributing factor to that. Dib felt his heartrate increasing every second he was there. It felt wrong to be there. He couldn’t recall many times that the lights were off in the surface level of the base. He walked inside, praying and praying that it wasn’t a trap of some kind. He’d brought his best tools with him just to be safe, but he could never be too sure. He got as far as the doorway to the kitchen before he stopped. Gir was sat atop the counter in the back corner, away from the prying eyes of any passerby on the sidewalk out front. Dib made his way up to the robot, lifting him up and looking over him. He was powered down, his eyes dark. Dib couldn’t find an ‘on’ switch and so set him back onto the counter. He wanted to study the robot more—for days, if he could—but he didn’t have the time to toy with that for now. He paused, noticing the dust and grime that had been building for the last half of the week on Gir’s body.

_That’s not right. Zim’s a germophobe. Did he leave?_

Dib hummed disapprovingly. He eyed the toilet and decided against it. If the power was truly out, then it wouldn’t work regardless, and he didn’t feel like going down that shoot. He bee-lined for the side table in the living room. He took it off the tiles, setting it aside. Dib hooked his fingers on the tile, trying to pry it open. It didn’t budge more than a millimeter. He tried a few more times before giving up with a huff and discarding his backpack. He rifled through it, finding his multi-tool. He hooked the point of the knife attachment under the tile, using leverage to pry it open. The hatch clicked when it popped open. Dib had to lift it up, forcing the hinges to snap. He wasn’t paying for that. He set the very edge of his shoe under the tiles, keeping them propped open. He looked down into the shoot, spying only darkness that was occasionally illuminated by a stray light. So, the base did have power. But none to the top floor. He wondered if he’d find anything down the tube, or if that’s all that was left. A tube and some forgotten lights set up with the neighbors’ power grid.

Dib furrowed his brow. He dug into his bag again, discarding binders he didn’t need any longer and grabbed for his grappling hook. He had thirty meters of cable in it, he could get pretty far on that. He shimmied his way into the shoot, securing the hook on the outside, and began his descent. The grappling hook only moved at a set pace when going down: slow. Dib had ample time to take in the scenery of dirt past a transparent walling. Eventually, he did hear a ‘click’ as the end of his cable caught on the line. He looked around, spying a door he could climb up to. He reeled in some of the line, struggling to stand on the tiny ledge that remained of the door’s frame. He used his knife here similarly to the shoot’s hatch.

Dib managed to push the door open, wedging his grappling hook’s body between the doors to keep them from shutting again. If he got lost, he’d just have to find the door with a plastic gun handle stuck in it.

Dib made his way through the lab cautiously. He had turned a few times when he started to see the scratch marks on the hall walls. Only ever down the single hallway, one set with dozens of doors, and none of them the source of the scratches had gone into more than once or twice, based on the amount of scratches that had made a new textured flooring. Some had even dragged up the walls. Dib felt his anxiety spike, breathing becoming more difficult, and his heart pounding in his ears. He took out a coin and flipped it.

Heads. Right, it is.

Dib banked down the hall. He followed the scratches to a door at the very end. It was set open, the light of the button stuck on. The button itself was cracked. Dib swallowed. He was definitely going to die.

Regardless, his dumb brain decided taking a quick peek inside wasn’t going to kill him. Not to mention he’d been caught inside the base before with a pissed off alien. It wasn’t any different if he got caught now. He figured if Zim did manage to beat him in a fight, he’d just launch him out with the cannon. Again. Dib poked his head in and gaped.

The room was, to put it mildly, utterly trashed. The walls weren’t just covered in scratches, but full on gouges in the metal. Several monitors had their screens shattered, the largest had the table thrown into it. The table that had been bolted to the floor, and whose single central leg was wrenched in half to achieve its new position. Wires and cables were hanging from the ceiling, out of the monitor stations, and from the floor where tiles were missing.

The uneasy pit in his stomach sank deeper. Dib tiptoed around the room, surveying the damage. He knew these markings well enough. He’d dodged the PAK legs enough times to be certain of the kind of damage they left on the surrounding area.

_Did he get in a fight?_

No, that didn’t seem likely. Dib’s sensors didn’t pick up any activity from outside for days. If someone had attacked, they’d have had to teleport in, or shrunk themselves. While he was aware nether feat was impossible, it was improbable. Dib left the room, making his way as quietly but hastily as he could to the opposite end of the hall. This door was also ajar. He spotted the tip of a PAK leg at the door. Instinctive fear bubbled up, but Dib fought it down.

He squeezed his way through the crack in the door and the frame. The room was just as trashed as the one before it. Dib trailed the PAK leg, walking as quietly as possible. It would occasionally twitch, making a metal creaking noise with the effort of the movement. Dib would pause, waiting, until it wasn’t moving any longer. He looked up to see the chair they were coming from. It was swiveled away from him. He could see Zim’s legs from this side.

Dib inched his way around the chair. He could see Zim was slouching in the seat with his eyes closed. Dib bent around the chair. He looked at Zim, leaning as close as he dared—which was about a few inches from his face. Dib smiled, the thought of the opportunity becoming too great for him to resist. He leaned away and took his phone out, holding it up for a photo.

“I didn’t think Irkens slept,” he murmured. A clawed hand grabbed the other side of the phone, the photo ending up being a very dark image of Zim's palm.

“They _don’t_.”

Dib shrieked, jumping several feet back. He would be humiliated if it weren’t for the fact Zim seemed utterly disinterested in him. Instead, Zim simply chucked his phone across the room and looked back to the broken monitor. Dib stared a moment. He side-stepped to his phone, retrieving it without taking his eyes off Zim. He cautiously stepped back up to the alien when he didn’t move.

“Zim?”

Zim didn’t respond. Dib couldn’t rightfully tell with the red eyes if he even glanced in his direction. He sauntered up to the alien, his bravado getting the best of him again. He was still sure not to disturb the PAK legs on his way up.

“Zim, I have those handcuffs.” Dib says. Zim didn’t pay him any mind. Dib was lying, but the alien didn’t know that.

Dib did catch a twitch from the PAK leg nearest to him. It was a small twitch, like it had lost its energy or fight. Typically, Zim would have at least hissed at Dib as a warning. A hiss that would forever and always send shivers down Dib’s spine with how unnatural it sounded. Dib acquainted it to a cat and a rattlesnake the first time he heard Zim hiss at him with a real intent to kill or maim backing it up. Zim was deadlier than any animal Dib had come across, as well as a fair number of cryptids, and he had bolted the moment the sound had come out of Zim’s mouth. They’d been in the middle of a fight, but Dib would have been damned if he was going to be dumb enough to die after getting a warning like that. He’d already ruined the latest plans—the fight was just to see who could beat who first. Once he’d gotten home safely he, of course, wrote down as much as he could recall about the entire experience. Theories included. 

And he was being a complete idiot right at this moment.

“…I have a water gun, too,” he adds. 

Zim still didn’t look his way but Dib saw his antennae twitch. It was a minor reaction; but it was something. Dib did have the water gun. He had even pulled it out of his bag when he announced its presence. It was only about half full; but it was more than enough. The slosh of the water and Dib caught Zim’s antennae twitch and his body stiffen. But, shockingly, the alien didn’t make a move to… move. Dib felt his palms grow sweaty.

“Alright.” He moved in front of Zim, gun forgotten in his hand as he braced on his knees to lean down to Zim’s eye level. The alien looked at him with a blank glare. “Are you sick?”

“…Irkens don’t get sick.”

“He speaks!” Dib shouts exaggeratingly. He cracked a smile at his own joke; but Zim doesn’t react past his lids lowering a little more. He was unimpressed and it was a half-assed attempt at a deeper glare. Dib deflated, putting the gun back into his bag, against his better judgement. “C’mon, that one is classic. So, then what’s wrong with you?”

“…”

“The silent treatment again? You don’t look like you could put up much of a fight right now, either.” Dib said coyly. He looked around the room before adding, “At least, not right now. Looks like you tired yourself out.”

“Days ago,” Zim added gruffly.

Dib eyed him. “Are you depressed, or something?”

“Or something.”

Dib blinked at him. He hadn’t expected a real answer. On top of that, Zim’s tone wasn’t exactly comforting. Dib had heard himself talking like this from time to time. Zim sounded apathetic. Dib’s worry started to shift from his own safety to Zim’s, much out of his control, and fueled by curiosity. Dib rubbed the back of his head, double checking the room again. He shifted his weight between his feet.

“Do you wanna…. Talk about it?” he asked. Zim shot him a look. Dib raised his hands up and let them drop again. “Alright, space-boy, well, I’m not leaving until you do, so. There.”

“…. Enjoy starving,” Zim spits. There was that trademark snark Dib had become so accustomed to. It was still hiding a little; but it was peeking through and that meant progress. Whether that progress was good progress remained to be seen. But Dib was never one to quit.

“Ok, fine. Look, you’re the only person I’ve had regular contact with for years now that didn’t think I was insane—”

“You are.”

“—or actively shut me out for being weird.”

“You are.”

“And yet you still talk to me,” Dib says. “And not just to pick a fight.”

Dib recalled with clarity the nights that he and Zim would be on a rooftop or in the park or on the outskirts of town, and they’d either have tired themselves out or weren’t in a battling mood. The occasions were rare, but they had been becoming more frequent as the years passed. These were nights when they’d just talk, like normal people. Sure, it’d go back to fighting the next day, or the day after if their moods were good. But, Dib like those nights. He got more out of the alien than he ever did any other day on those nights. A lot of it was sub-textual information that Dib had to rely on theories to explain and it wasn’t anything as grandiose as weaknesses or base secrets—but opinions and recounts of basic space travel and Zim’s own life experiences were something Dib found equally valuable and engaging. The topics shifted throughout the conversations and could take hours to conclude. Zim, though he’d never admit it, respected Dib’s boundless curiosity for every topic at hand. Zim had gotten some things of use out of the conversations as well—it was the reason he told himself he kept at them. Though Dib could aggravating, annoy, and often anger him, Zim knew he was also one of the few people on the planet who he could hold a meaningful conversation with.

Presently, Dib was smiling smugly at him, inching ever closer across the line of annoyance into aggravation.

“Hey, I’m right. So, start talking. It helps.” Dib says. Zim eyed him. The PAK legs drew into his PAK, scraping against the flooring. They were uncharacteristically limp. Instead of sitting up to speak, Zim stood and walked towards the door, his back straight in typical military fashion. Dib paused before following him out. “Zim, it really does help.”

“Don’t care.”

“And speaking basic, bare minimum sentences don’t qualify,” Dib adds. Zim whirled on him, just a tiny spark of that energy coming back into his red eyes. They glowed faintly in the dim lighting of the hallway and Dib was adamantly reminded of just whose den he was currently trespassing in. A lump of fear blocked his windpipe for a moment.

“I could kill you.” Zim says evenly. Dib stared at him, acutely aware of the legitimacy of that fact and how he didn’t need the reminder. Plus, he had been pressing a matter that perhaps he shouldn’t have. A fact made clearer when Zim kept speaking. “I could skewer you like a shish kabob and burn your body to ash—until nothing was left. No one would know you’re missing except Gaz. Who, I somewhat, doubt would care. If she does, I could just do the same to her.”

Dib clenched his fists, but remained silent, holding Zim’s gaze steadily. The alien wasn’t moving, still as a statue, watching him back. Finally, Dib slowly started to shake his head.

“No, you wouldn’t.” Dib says finally. He let his body relax, his fists unclenching. He wasn’t about to let Zim goad him into a fight right now. He sees Zim’s shoulders prickle and his teeth start to bare. He wasn’t going to get goaded into a fight if he could help it, that is. Dib continues quickly. “Because then you’d be alone. It’s the same reason I haven’t killed you, either.”

Zim stares at him. Reading him. His lips had started to close, and he turned his back to Dib, stomping away. Dib felt relief wash over him briefly. He could live another day. For now. 

He chased after Zim, partly because he wasn’t entirely sure where to go, and partly because he was genuinely concerned about what had caused Zim’s tantrum. He hadn’t even known Zim could wrench a bolted table out of the floor. The image flashed in Dib’s mind and his feet carried him driven by two emotions. Unabashed curiosity and hurt pride.

He’d been holding back on him.

_The absolute dumbass._

“Hey. I get that this is probably something you don’t want to discuss, but I’m here for you to talk to me. It’s not like you can go to therapy.” Dib says, jogging up to Zim’s side to keep pace.

“What is that?” Zim asks. There was genuine curiosity in his voice and Dib grasped that little bit of real reaction like a lifeline. He couldn’t really pinpoint why he cared so much. If nothing else, he could distract Zim to some degree. Dib wasn’t sure why he was bothering, given if Zim died of starvation from his own apathetic self just neglecting to eat, it would have made Dib’s job a hell of a lot easier. And yet.

“It’s where people talk about their problems, in basic terms. It helps.” Dib insists. Zim shot him another look and Dib sighed dramatically. “It helps you paranoid bug—”

Zim whirled on him, pinning him to the wall by fists in his shirt. Dib latched onto Zim’s wrists, ready to wrench them away if he had to. He wasn’t sure how on the line Zim was between throwing him out or snapping his neck, either ending after a good beating. What Dib did know was that the claws were poking through his shirt and had assuredly broken skin. It was just another shirt down the drain. Dib opted to deal with trying to ask Gaz to sew it up later and met Zim’s eyes. Two full orbs of red, like bottomless pools of blood, all full of fury.

“And why?” Zim asked, tongue and teeth bare as he hissed when he talked. Dib shivered at the sound. “Why do you CARE?”

“I-I don’t… I don’t know, I just do.” Dib stammered. He gave an experimental tug on Zim’s hands. The fists tightened, only further cementing the early death of Dib’s t-shirt. Dib wriggled against the wall. He couldn’t move more than a few centimeters at a time. His heart rate was starting to pick up the more he couldn’t budge Zim’s grip. He may have to resort to kicking. Zim narrowed his eyes, hissing at him again.

“Liar.”

Zim dropped him, giving him a good kick to the shin before he started down the hall again. Dib clutched at his leg a moment, refusing to whine, as he stumbled after Zim down the hall. The wall was his support as he hobbled after him. He wasn’t one to give up easily, and Zim knew that by now. Dib was also one to push buttons.

“Zim, you’re being bothered by something. Tell me what it is.”

“You do not care.”

“I do,” Dib insisted. 

“No, you do not. You can’t.” Zim shot back.

Dib glowered at the back of Zim’s head. He ran up in front of Zim, cutting him off in the hallway by putting a hand firmly on the alien’s chest. The alien’s demeanor didn’t shift very much. He glared Dib down, unimpressed. Given that Dib hadn’t been successful at all to fend Zim off a few seconds prior and that Dib just didn’t have that imposing of a frame; Dib’s attempt to stop him wasn’t that successful. Dib had never ‘grown into’ any sort of obvious muscle. He was still a good half a head taller than Zim—and could always be—but, Zim had learned he was deceptively strong. For someone so slight, Dib could pack a mean punch when he wanted to. 

There in the hall, Zim could feel the effort Dib was putting into his palm to keep him from leaning forward to take another step. Zim could easily sidestep him; but that might incur a fight. Zim was just too mentally exhausted to fight. He was in the mood to poster and bluff, not fight. Instead, he reached his hand up, wrapped it around Dib’s wrist firmly, and pulled the boy’s hand away.

“No.”

Zim shoved past him, stopping at the elevator that had Dib’s grappling hook in it. Zim stared at it a moment before giving Dib a different ‘look’. One of abject disbelief with an undertone of annoyance. Dib flushed a little. Zim grabbed the gun, yanking it out and snapping the chord, without breaking eye contact. Dib stared disappointed at the loss of a large sum of money. He couldn’t afford putting in another equipment request to The Swollen Eyeball with his track record. The duo’s multiple encounters had cost the organization a pretty penny already.

Zim hit the button, oblivious to Dib’s future financial woes, and the elevator doors closed and opened again a moment later with the floor ready to take Dib up. Dib looked between Zim and the elevator. He stepped up and hit the button again, closing the door. He bounced out of Zim’s reach, just in case, when the alien stared at him in annoyance. The expression was largely unreadable—Dib would be hesitant to admit it, but Zim’s contacts really did most of the work when Dib was reading how he was feeling—aside from the half-lidded glare. It was also, pointedly, half-hearted. Dib decided to stand his ground. He wasn’t sure what he was wearing down; but a wall was starting to fall and he wasn’t losing this small foothold if he could help it.

“I’m not leaving,” he declared. Zim started to shake. He looked ready to scream and throw punches. Instead he turned on his heel back down another hall. The spark of anger in his eyes was a passionate flare; one that Dib saw be physically suppressed as Zim forced his body to turn. Dib had to jog to keep pace with his strides. Zim wasn’t making it subtle how much he wanted to be away from him. “Zim, I’m trying to help you.”

“And I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want your help. I don’t want you here,” Zim spits. 

He hissed low and long as Dib caught up with him. He had half a mind to swipe out and slash the boy wherever his claws happened to land. It would be satisfying, to a degree. But it felt like too much effort. Instead, he just quickened his pace again. The satisfying groan of frustration that followed almost put a smile to Zim’s lips.

Dib was at a steady jog at this point. Meanwhile, Zim didn’t seem perturbed at all. He was keeping up the long stride with no indication that he was going to be slowing down any time soon. Dib had one or two more desperate pleas to make before he would resign to give up and try again another day.

“Zim, I really do think it’d benefit you—”

“Dib, the last person I want to talk to is YOU!” Zim growls. Dib hears the hiss in the very back of Zim’s throat. Setting aside the curiosity of how he managed to growl and hiss simultaneously, Dib instead became acutely aware of the fact that he, once again, was in the perfect position to be murdered. And yet, Zim had yet to do so.

Ah, that glimmer of hope was there, yet.

“Ok, how about this?” Dib began. He sprinted ahead, blocking Zim’s path. “You just have to say one thing.”

Zim’s PAK leg came out, thrusting towards Dib. Familiar fear and the instinct to live was the only reason he side-stepped it just in time to save his shoulder. Zim didn’t break his pace, waltzing right by the boy.

“As I was saying,” Dib began again. “You just have to say one thing and I’ll leave!”

The final words caught Zim’s attention, his antennae flicking in Dib’s direction. His stride finally came to a halt. Dib cursed that superior alien stamina once he was close enough to see that Zim didn’t even seem fazed, whereas Dib was left breathing heavier than he’d like to admit. Zim had his chin cupped in his fingers. He sighed, turning to Dib.

“I. Am. Upset.” He says evenly. Dib stared blankly at him, waiting for more. No shit, he was upset. Dib could have easily guessed that. The PAK leg jutted out, maneuvering around Dib’s head and twisting itself in the hood of his jacket even as Dib tried to dodge out of the way. It lifted him off the ground and Zim started to walk back towards the elevator. “And that is all.”

Dib, now that he was aware he wasn’t going to be skewered, was busy trying to come to terms with the fact Zim had admitting to being upset. Sure, the Irken would curse and scream and throw tantrums when he was pissed. But never had Zim admitted, openly, to being upset. The three-word phrase had never, to Dib’s knowledge, left his mouth before. While Dib had been the one to goad Zim into the, admittedly small instance of, emotional openness it was strange to experience it. While Zim was certainly passionate about many of his feelings, those feelings largely consisted of rage, aggravation, annoyance, triumph, narcissism, or sadistic glee.

“Upset” was not in established the vocabulary. “Upset” was not what Dib had seen before. “Upset” was new territory. Territory Dib wasn’t sure how to navigate.

Zim threw him into the elevator. Dib’s back hit the walling of the tube, knocking the wind out of him, and his senses back in. He scrambled to his feet. The PAK leg hovered in front of him, poised to stab. Dib stood there, staring past it towards Zim.

“You will LEAVE my base. Now.” Zim ordered. 

He pressed the button, retracting his PAK’s leg slow enough Dib couldn’t slip past it in the doorway. Dib wouldn’t have dreamed of doing it, as the failure of doing so meant getting stabbed who-knew-where. He let the elevator bring him up to the main floor, the cable of the grappling hook forming a pile as it climbed. Dib gathered the cable up in his arms. It didn’t have to be a total waste of scrap. The elevator deposited him back in the living room. Somehow it seemed more suffocating than before.

Dib trudged to the door. He knew when to let something go. For now. He was going to be back, all right. He wasn’t leaving the alien alone for long as it stood right then.

~*~

Dib had returned the next day, as it were, and noted the gnomes still weren’t active. At this rate he probably could have climbed to the rooftop and taken the Voot for a joy ride before Zim knew what had happened. While Dib didn’t know much about flying the Voot, he had his limited experience in Tak’s ship under his belt. He slotted the possibility in the back of his mind as he pushed the still unlocked door open again. Gir was left where he had been set yesterday. Not entirely a good sign, as it meant in the least Zim still hadn’t turned him back on. The undisturbed layers of dust meant Zim still hadn’t come up at all.

Dib forced the tube open again, resetting the hook to where it had been before and lowering himself down by hand on the cable. He stopped at the same elevator at the end of the cable and repeated the method of entry he had before. He poked his head through. The halls were still dark. Dib looked around, shrugging on his jacket once more. It had a small tear from the tip of the PAK leg; but it wasn’t something worth throwing it away for, given how some of his clothing had been ruined.

Dib explored the rooms, most of which were destroyed similarly to the two rooms he’d found before. He excluded the doors what wouldn’t open to him until finally he spotted the same green head and antennae poking out from a chair. Dib sighed inwardly, walking in without trying to be quiet. The antenna perked up and Zim peered around the chair at him, as unimpressed as he was before.

“What, you thought I’d be gone long?” Dib asked snarkily.

The Irken didn’t respond, turning back around, head on his hand. Dib felt an eye twitch. He forced the chair to swivel around to glare Zim in the eyes. Zim’s leg retracted, kicking out once he was fully turned, landing a solid hit in Dib’s ribs. Dib doubled over with a cough, clutching his side.

“No fair,” Dib rasped. He straightened himself, leveling out his breathing.

“You’re the one who is trespassing,” Zim points out. His voice was gravelly, as if it had been overused. He used his foot to shove Dib away, who stumbled to regain his footing, with a fresh bloom of pain in his side. Zim kicked the chair away as he stood.

The PAK leg hooked itself in Dib’s hood again, twisting to maintain grip. When it lifted, Dib heard the tearing of fabric. The leg had managed to lift him off the ground before the hood gave way and the tear went right through the fabric, freeing him. Dib hit the floor, tackling Zim immediately in a lunge. Whatever funk the alien was in, it was definitely the only factor that aided Dib in successfully pinning him to the ground. While Zim was in a very shallow lean thanks to his PAK, Dib was able to pin down the Irken’s arms. The PAK leg had twisted around, stopping its thrust close enough to Dib’s back that he could feel the tip hovering over his shirt. Dib stared at him, waiting for the tip to pierce his back. Zim looked confused.  
Zim seemed conflicted on what to do. He accepted he’d been caught off guard. Dib wasn’t sure if he refrained from striking him down because it meant he would be sprayed with blood, or another reason. Zim’s face was contorting between disgust, anger, and another conflicting emotion that Dib couldn’t quite identify. He really wished Zim was wearing the contacts so it’d be easier. The PAK leg was twitching indecisively behind him, occasionally poking into his back. Dib felt sweat starting under his shirt. He was on thin ice. He just knew it. 

Finally, Zim seemed to make a decision as he started to thrash under Dib’s weight.

“GET OFF!” the Irken roared. “You—you’re such a filthy, _filthy_ worm!”

“No, we’re discussing this,” Dib says, ignoring the insult and the kicks to his back. The confidence in his voice was delivered with a quiver that he wished wasn’t there; but he wasn’t giving in. Zim could hit and kick him all he wanted. He had various times before. 

And that’s exactly what the alien seemed to be doing. Dib felt his knees in his sides and his back, and it hurt, but he’d endured worse. Zim’s arm reached up, a punch landing squarely on Dib’s jaw. Dib gave a more audible ‘oof’ than he’d’ve liked to, recoiling from the hit on reflex. It was surprising to feel Zim’s own arm bend up to land the hit so effortlessly. It had more weight behind it than Dib thought it would. Dib wasn’t sure he had offered any level of resistance against Zim’s swing, despite how hard Dib had been trying to hold him down. Even with his arms pinned, Zim had thrown the punch with ease. Zim had been going easy on him and it was just insulting.

Dib’s dodge gave Zim just enough wiggle room to try and pull himself from under him. Dib grabbed at his arms again, shoving the alien down.

“Damn it, Zim, it’s just talking!” Dib shouted. He felt Zim’s struggles weren’t the best they had ever been. It was as if the alien’s fight had left him after the first swing. “Would you stop? What the hell even happened?”

Zim sneered at him. He growled, but he stopped trying to kick Dib off. Dib was silently grateful; he didn’t want to explain why he was utterly covered in bruises if his dad demanded to inspect why he was limping later. He could only blame school bullies so many times before someone investigated the frequency. Zim looked away, staring pointedly at the wall. His antennae weren’t flat against his skull, so he wasn’t planning to gut Dib anytime soon, which was good. They were at the angle Dib had concluded meant he was being irritated. Dib would take irritation over murderous intent any day. He let his grip loosen just a fraction and felt a jolt as Zim tried to sit up, taking Dib’s one slip as an opportunity. 

Dib pressed him back down. Zim glared at him, snarled even. Dib knew he was capable of pushing him off, and he wondered for a moment why Zim hadn’t yet. Instead, Zim set a clawed hand on Dib’s thigh, right over a major artery. It was a silent threat. A restrained one, but Dib got the point. It appeared Zim had given up on verbal refusal for the moment. Dib looked uncertainly at him.

“You’d get your floor all dirty with my blood, huh?” he taunted. 

The words had left his mouth very nearly on reflex at this point. A taunt was something they just did to one another. As if it were a game. Though Dib wouldn’t call this a fight, he would concede that it could very easily turn into one. Point of example was the floor hitting him before the realization that he’d been pinned did. He always just had to push his luck. Zipper teeth stopped inches from gnashing on his neck before Dib had time to properly react. It was the perfect bite—right over his neck and major arteries as he was pinned sideways—and Dib shivered, unable to process why exactly Zim had stopped. He was thanking every God that existed he had; but the confusion remained. On top of the fact that this was perhaps the closest he’d just come to dying by Zim’s hand. Or teeth. Perhaps a few thankful prayers were just good manners.

Zim gripped Dib’s arms strong enough that it was unquestionably going to leave bruises. Dib could even hear the hiss growing in Zim’s throat. The alien leaned down so that Dib could hear him better. “NO.”

Dib had it. He used what little momentum he could gain to try and sit up. The attempt failed and all he could really muster was leaning on his elbows after trying to fight Zim off several times. Zim still hadn’t expected it, coming chest to chest and his head filling the spot between Dib’s neck and shoulder once Dib had managed to secure a place for his elbow and readjusted. Zim had still had his claws on Dib’s arms, the points threatening to break skin when Dib’s shifting body almost threw the alien off balance. Zim leaned away, keeping some form of distance between them, but he didn’t let go.

“FINE. Be that way. Can you at least muster up enough will to live to help me with something else, then?” Dib asked. Zim blinked at him, gone still in what Dib could only assume was confusion. He waited until Zim had stood, brushing himself off, before continuing. The puzzled expression Zim was giving him was more than enough of a question. 

“I’m going Big Foot hunting this week. The damage your PAK legs have made,” Dib waved his arms around the room, “would be ample defense while I’m doing it.”

“You think you can just DEMAND anything from me? You’ve gone rotten in the brain, Earth-pig.” Zim says, waving Dib off. He started out of the room, stopping when Dib grabbed him from behind in what would have otherwise been called a hug if Zim wasn’t kicking and swearing at the boy in Irken. As a result it was more like Dib was halfway to wrestling Zim back onto the ground.

“It’s for a DAY, Zim. If I can put this rivalry behind for a day, then surely you can muster the same restraint!” Dib pleads. “I need to do this assignment!”

He also really, really needed backup for this Big Foot hunt. Gaz had already turned him down, his dad was not an option, and he had no friends he could rely on for this. Half of the kids in the clubs Dib was in couldn’t even climb a rope, much less a tree, even if a monster or a bear were chasing them. Dib didn’t want to risk having a mauling of a classmate on his hands. The Swollen Eyeball wasn’t approving it for an official investigation—only a cursory one. His only option left was to go solo; or pray Zim would tag along. It helped that it doubled as a way to keep an eye on the alien. Regardless, Zim protested, heartily, for a good few minutes until Dib felt like his arms would fall off. He had expected that the moment he decided to grapple him from behind. Finally, mercifully, Zim seemed to calm down enough to give a tired huff and slump in Dib’s arms. Dib was grateful Zim had stopped trying to break his arms. He knew he could, easily, if he really wanted to; but, he wasn’t going to complain that he wasn’t.

“Let me go, Dib.”

Dib paused. Zim rarely called him by his name without some tacked-on insult and he realized that the same thing had happened yesterday. Dib let him down, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. He swayed on his heels for a while, unsure in what to do. Zim wasn’t turning to him, his antennae weren’t twitching to listen to anything Dib might do next, and he was staring at the floor with his fists clenched. He just stood there where Dib had dropped him as if he were a statue. It was unsettling to see the utter lack of movement in someone Dib knew was a ball of unbridled energy. Usually. Something was clearly wrong.

Dib figured one last attempt was enough before he’d give up.  
“I mean, c’mon. You wouldn’t risk that some other entity would do me in before you could, right?” Dib asked. He watched Zim flinch before going still again. 

A prod to Zim’s ego was always a sure-fire way to easily manipulate him. Dib almost felt bad. He didn’t seen another way around it yet, though, so he was willing to risk it. It was idiotic to do so, maybe, and yet he didn’t really care either way at the moment. Getting any kind of reaction from Zim was enough. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done it before. He would insult Zim’s ego and ability to do what he intended constantly in their battles. Particularly when Dib knew he’d won.

Zim turned to him slowly, eyes full of suspicion. Despite that, Dib could see the gears turning in Zim’s head. It was already working. Eventually, when Zim couldn’t find any trickery in Dib’s innocent but snarky grin, he pinched his brow. His antenna flicked about indecisively a moment before settling.

“FINE. Zim will accompany you so that you don’t die before…. Whatever I do to this dirt ball.” Zim says, waving his hand tiredly.

Dib’s smile faltered a little. Zim sounded… tired. Not the physical exhaustion Dib was accustomed to, but a more mental wear that he knew much more familiarly. So much so that Dib knew now was not the time to press the matter. He simply clapped his hands and beamed instead.

“Excellent! I’ll meet you right back here in a few days,” Dib says. He brushed past Zim on his way out. 

The alien didn’t react much with the motion, stiffening up once again after the initial contact before his bristles settled, and he just watched Dib leave. He felt something bubbling up in his core and he shook his head to get it to dissipate. Gir ran up to him, falling down at his feet.

“Is Mary coming back?” he asks. Zim sighed.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Is Mary going to make you feel better?” Gir asks, grabbing his feet and swaying them back and forth like a toddler. Zim’s antennae lowered confusedly.

“What?”

“You’re going to feel better!” Gir announced suddenly, jumping up and screaming up and down the blocked hallway. 

Zim watched him a moment. He didn’t regret agreeing to go on the trip with Dib. He was certain he’d be fine. It was _Dib_ , after all. Even if he managed to get one up on Zim, neither had taken the proverbial shot and solidified their win in years. Zim hated to admit it—he hated to think about it—but at some point he lost the drive to actually kill Dib. Despite how much he got in the way. Zim just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He doubted he’d have an issue killing any other human—Dib was the rare exception in his eyes.

A rare exception he was about to have pestering him for days.


	2. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have chapter 2! Hopefully chapter 3 won’t be too long. I have it roughly planned out already!
> 
> Enjoy!

Dib toed the inside of Zim’s front lawn. The gnomes remained staring straight ahead. Dib grimaced at the lack of change. Having them deactivated was reckless on Zim’s part. Even if Dib was the only one who believed he was an alien, burglars were still a thing. Now that he had thought of it, he wasn’t entirely sure that Zim’s gnomes hadn’t disposed of one or two trespassers before. Not that he could or couldn’t prove it—and that infuriated him to some extent. He knew of the debacle that was the child that got stuck in his lawn that one time. Seeing it on the news after the fact was kind of hilarious.

Still, the lack of activity on the security system’s part was worrying. Dib knew from personal attempts that it had to be either manually dismantled or turned off via verbal order from Zim. Either way, this was intentional. Since he’d been unable to record Zim’s base 24/7 as he had always wanted; and had had to dodge the lasers plenty of times himself, Dib could only assume this wasn’t the norm. He looked up to the door as he approached it.

He’d left Zim alone the entire day yesterday and hadn’t heard a peep. It all was sending warning flags off in his brain. The anxiety had started mounting again and so Dib braved the weather outdoors—he really hated strong winds and rain even in his coats—to see if the alien had skipped town. He pushed open the door, lamenting at the lack of a lock. If it had always been this easy he could have won their battle ages ago. He wasn’t sure what had caused the sudden change in Zim’s behavior, but it was benefiting him far too much too late. He kicked the door shut and shook out his coat, hanging it on the door’s handle before he went further inside. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Zim hadn’t left for the day—given the rain. 

Half the time he didn’t see Zim come to school on rainy days and would end up spying on him afterward only to see him being bored to tears watching TV until Dib showed up. Whether it rained in the morning or not really determined if Zim left his house. He could only horde paste so long before he ran out and forgot to get more. He’d been stuck standing at the doors to the school with the rain locking him in place like a prisoner until it stopped.

Dib saw his grappling hook was gone to the lab tube entrance and sighed. He had to replace it anyway, but he still hated that he’d lost on any salvaging of that investment. He looked up to spot Gir on the table now, seemingly turned off again. He narrowed his eyes at the robot. He’d found him like that before, recalled. He inched his way up to Gir, poking him quickly in the temple. Gir jerked, his eyes lighting up and he looked at Dib and smiled.

“MARY!” he cheered. Dib was quick to shush him.

“Were you seriously on this whole time?!” Dib asked. “Even the other day?”

“Yeah! Master told me to take a nap!” Gir replied happily. He hopped off the table, prancing around the kitchen while he hummed a small beat. Dib watched him, flabbergasted. Gir was truly the worst robot Zim could have ever been stuck with.

“He—he ordered you to take a nap? For days?” Dib asks. “You were covered in dust last time.”

Gir paused. He hummed with a high-pitched whine and climbed back onto the table to better look Dib in the eyes. “Master isn’t feeling well.”

“…How so?”

Gir shrugged with an uncertain ‘I don’t know’ noise as his only response. The momentarily solemn expression was wiped off his face. He hopped down to race into the living room to watch TV. Dib watched as he pulled his dog costume from between the cushions and shimmied into it so he could sit unimpeded on the couch. Dib joined him in the living room, eyeing up the elevator tube. He doubted that Gir would stop him. He remembered the grappling hook and kicked the table, screeching when the panel raised and knocked him off kilter. The tube’s floor raised up, waiting. Dib eyed it suspiciously before he took a cautious step onto it. It lowered him down and he had the sudden, horrific, realization that his water gun was in the coat on the door. He saw it disappear past the base flooring in time with the sinking in his gut.

He really hoped he didn’t need it. 

He stepped out onto the same floor he had been on before. The entire hall was dark, no light seen beyond the corners. Dib walked forward, checking each door that opened. He tried to pry open one or two that wouldn’t, yielding no results without a tool to assist him. If Zim had decided to hide away inside one of those rooms he was out of luck. He was through what he hoped was about half the floor when he started to feel tired. He didn’t know how Zim managed to fit all this underground. Dib idly wondered just how deep into the Earth he really was. He had to be past all the pipes and electrical wiring to be walking around in such a large floor.

He checked the last door that would open to him only to find it empty. Dib sighed, leaning against the wall for a moment. If he were honest, he was always interested on exploring the base. He just didn’t want to go on a wild goose chase for an alien that might have high tailed it out of there. The possibility that Dib had the entire base to himself was an exciting one—he could explore at his own leisure and gather as much evidence as he could carry—but he would also be a dead man should Zim pop in unexpectantly. Dib figured if he could at least explore what he could while looking for Zim it was an acceptable excuse. He found himself back at the elevator and faced with a new problem. He didn’t know where to go from there. Had Zim gone up or down in the base? If Dib went further down would he be able to find his way back up? And just how long would it take him to explore even a fraction of the base?

He had mapped out some vents he could climb out of if he had to in the past. He’d done it before plenty of times over the years. He stepped into the elevator, hitting the button to descend. It went down by one floor and he stepped out, ready to search again.

“Get back in there.”

Dib almost jumped out of his skin. He screeched, throwing up his hands to fend off whoever that voice came from. It took him a few moments of seeing an empty hall and feeling like a moron to remember the base had an AI system. It rarely spoke to him—even when he was trespassing. Dib sheepishly stepped away from the elevator, his face flushing, and hoping that Zim didn’t have cameras trained on him.

“Get. BACK. In. THERE.”

“Make me—” Dib threw his hands ups, blanching. “WAIT DON’T! DON’T LISTEN TO ME! I DIDN’T MEAN THAT!”

Dib had caught himself just a fraction too late in his snarky response. He knew Zim would have either snarked him back or started a fight—but he had no idea what the base’s AI response would do. He didn’t feel like getting impaled or imprisoned or shot out of a canon for his ‘order’ to be complied with. He doubted the Computer would ever listen to his orders; but, he also knew the Computer could be a fickle beast. He supposed that was the issue with true AI. 

Dib saw no mechanical arms reaching for him and he didn’t see any traps deploying. The hallway remained unchanged around him. He looked up at the ceiling, where the voice always seemed to come from. He spotted a very small speaker near the ceiling’s corner that bent to form the arch in the wall.

“Um. I’m looking for Zim? He wasn’t on the floor he was on yesterday,” Dib says.

“Yes, it’s called moving,” the Computer shot back. Dib glowered at the speaker. He could deal without the sass. “You’re trespassing.”  
“You never seemed to care before,” Dib says. 

He started down the hall, feeling bold in his spite against the Computer. A large metal door dropped from the ceiling, cutting off his access to the south wing of the floor. Dib knocked his hand against it as the Computer spoke, eyeing the speaker suspiciously. If he was going to be gassed, he could see an air vent to his left just a few yards away.

“Zim cares. You’re trespassing. Get in the elevator.”

“ But, I told him I’d be back—”

“In a few days—”

“I changed my mind—”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re an AI, you shouldn’t be able to care!” Dib shouts, waving his arms at the ceiling. He looked like a lunatic, but he’d be damned if he was standing for this. He heard something that almost sounded like a laugh before it was cut off and the speaker fritzed out with a garbled static. “AND NO ONE STOPPED ME, ANYWAY!!”

“You’re not a threat.”

Dib gaped up at the speaker. He stomped over until he was just under it, pointing at it accusingly. “I AM A THREAT, GOD DAMN IT!”

“You believe in God?”

“It’s an expression! You have internet!”

Dib kicked the wall. He regretted it—kicking an entire metal sheet backed up by miles and miles of packed Earth didn’t really agree with his toes. He was at least certain he hadn’t broken anything. He swore, hopping past the elevator. Another metal door fell down, cutting his access off again. Dib sighed, leaning his head against it. He thought about kicking it again, stopping short to spare his foot any further damage. He could have sworn he heard the Computer snicker. He glared up at the speaker.

“Are you going to keep me trapped here until I get back on the elevator?” he asks.

“Are you otherwise really going to try climbing over a mile of ventilation piping to get out?” The Computer asks. 

Dib’s face fell. He stared at the ventilation cover. It was looking more like a grave than a route to salvation. He glowered up at the camera. He wasn’t one to lose a fight—certainly, he wasn’t going to lose to an alien AI. He felt renewed determination. He opened his mouth, ready to spout whatever speech would have fallen out of his mouth, when he heard the elevator doors slide open and two feet step out. Dib whirled around to see Zim, holding Gir like a teddy-bear, and staring him down looking rather unimpressed. He dropped Gir and crossed his arms. Gir ran over to Dib to immediately cling to his shin.

“I thought you would have gone through the air duct by now,” Zim says. Dib flushed, sputtering out his response.

“N-no! I wasn’t going to—to—let this AI trick me into something!” Dib proclaimed. Zim blinked slowly at him and shook his head. He still looked tired, much to Dib’s dismay. Maybe Gir was on to something.

“The air vents are possibly the one thing that would be the hardest to trap, you idiot. Imagine how hard it would be to reset, not to mention you couldn’t put any poison gas or liquid in them,” Zim says. Dib hadn’t considered that himself. He didn’t have an evil lair to necessitate that kind of thought, though, so he gave himself a break for that. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Dib parroted.

“I live here.”

“NO.” Dib rubbed his temples, hating that he had walked into that one. “Why are you HERE, on this floor? Did the Computer rat my location out?”

“Of course.”

Dib glared at the speaker. “What the hell?!”

“You really didn’t expect that?” the Computer asks. The speaker fritz out. Dib turned embarrassingly to Zim. He really hadn’t planned for any of this. He felt like a moron—and deservedly so, in his opinion. Zim tapped his foot, raising one eyebrow curiously as he waited for Dib to give whatever excuse he could come up with.

“Um…” Dib shuffled his feet. Gir jumped and latched onto his side with a squeal. The weight was uncomfortable, but Dib could still run if he had to. He could use Gir as a shield if he must. “I-I wanted… to check on you. I wanted to check up on you.”

Zim blinked at him, regarding him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because…” Dib kicked at the floor, all his energy and defiance simmering out of him. “Because… I don’t know. I wanted to. I felt like I had to?”

“You don’t. Leave,” Zim says. He stepped forward, tearing Gir off of Dib. Gir protested, loudly, and tried to fight Zim off. Zim cursed, holding him out at arm’s length. “GIR!”

“I want Mary to stay!” Gir screamed. Zim groaned, dropping him. Gir was back on Dib’s leg in an instant.

“He is not staying,” Zim said. He hit the elevator button, the door sliding open with a hiss. “Whether you leave on your own or not.”

Dib was smart enough to know a threat when he heard one and hurried to the elevator. He expected Zim to send him up on his own, surprised when Zim stepped in with him. Dib shimmied to the side to give him room. Gir climbed up him until Dib was forced to cradle him in his arms. Zim eyed Gir like he was traitor and groaned, running his hand down his face. 

Dib noticed, as Zim punched in a floor to stop at, that Zim was standing stiffly again, as if he were a soldier. Dib wasn’t sure why that stuck out to him—in Irken terms, Zim must have been a sort of elite soldier. The one who went to planets to spy on them, find weakness, dismantle them from the inside for easy invasion. For any military, his role was something that would have been revered. Dib looked away, feeling that something was inherently wrong with the posture for some reason. 

Zim shot his arm out when the elevator doors opened. Dib ran into it, the breath getting knocked out of his body with the sheer weight of the immovability of the arm, and he stumbled back into the elevator with a gasp.

“Stay,” Zim orders. Dib groaned, unsure he’d be able to move that fast anyway. Zim was gone only a moment. He returned with Gir’s dog suit and the robot gleefully jumped into it. It took some fighting due to Gir’s eagerness, but eventually Zim was able to get the suit on him. He dropped Gir unceremoniously on the elevator with a huff. “There. You can go like that.”

“You’re really not coming?” Dib asks hopefully. Zim glared him down with the same venomous intensity as he had the previous day Dib had trespassed into his base. “Right.”

The elevator hit the top floor and Zim pushed Dib out into the living room. Dib glowered at him, his annoyance ebbing away into spite. Dib rolled his shoulders out, standing in the living room deliberately. It started to work as Zim stood on the elevator floor, tapping his foot and glowering at Dib more and more as he took longer to move. Finally, Zim broke first, stepping off the elevator.

“Why are you always—AUGH!”

Dib had thrown Gir at Zim’s head. Gir, being the energetic ball of chaotic energy that he was, was all too happy to latch onto Zim’s head with a squeal. Zim stumbled back. He tore Gir off in time to see Dib duck around his peripheral. Zim snarled, turning to hit the boy only to find no one. He paused, just long enough that Dib had a rare opening to take advantage of. Dib jumped onto Zim’s back, latching his arms around Zim’s shoulders and neck. If he wanted him off by use of his PAK, he’d have to skewer him to get any of the legs out. It was a gamble. And for one horrifying moment, Dib could feel the joins poking through the openings of the PAK before they were drawn back in once Zim came to the same conclusion. Zim growled, spinning and grabbing at Dib’s shoulder sleeves.

“WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!” Zim screeched. Dib hooked his legs around Zim’s torso next when he tried to pry him off.

“You’re being weird!”

“You’re being insufferable!”

“You’re being worse!” Dib shot back. “It’s words! You know how to use words!”

“You’re still on that?!” Zim asks. He stumbled when Dib threw his weight to the side.

They fell on the couch and Dib hunkered down on his grip. He didn’t care if Zim bit his leg or arm to get him off, he had already sworn to many Gods he was getting an answer out of the alien. Zim was hissing at him, clawing at his arms and tearing the fabric of his jacket. It wasn’t long before Dib saw blood starting to form along his arm and he grunted, trying to roll Zim over so he could pin him. Zim stood up, holding Dib up easier than he was expecting him to—or hoping for. Gir was squealing and racing through the room, either unaware of the situation or just over stimulated by the antics.

“Why can you never just leave?!” Zim roared. He pulled Dib off, finally, and threw him on the couch. Dib still lost his breath from the impact. He squinted his eyes shut when Zim got right into his face, clutching the couch in a flinch. He could feel the anger rolling off of Zim in waves. He started to think perhaps, just perhaps, he’d finally hit a button he didn’t intend to.

“You trespass, you refuse to leave, you ASSAULT Zim—Why?! You cannot just leave?! Just leave me be—I do not want your presence here!” Zim screamed.

Dib felt a fist at his shirt’s collar, and he was dragged off the couch towards the door. Dib tried to hit him off. “Hey! Hey! Just talk to me! I’m trying to help you!”

“Help someone else!”

Zim threw him out onto the lawn. Gir ran out after him. Dib adjusted his glasses, a small crack on one side of one lens, in time to see Zim slam the door after Gir. Dib sighed, brushing himself off. He could feel the pain starting to bloom in his arms in time with his adrenaline leaving him. He sighed, limping past the gnomes to the sidewalk. Gir pranced beside him the entire trek home. 

When Dib finally got into the house he collapsed onto the couch. Gaz flicked her gaze up from her game. She stared at him a long moment before she disappeared into the kitchen. Gir followed her inside. Dib heard him climb onto the counter and squeak at her as if to show off his disguise.

“What the…” There was a pause and Gaz came back into the room, dropping the med-kit onto Dib’s lap. He grunted. “What is Gir doing here?”

“He followed me home,” Dib said gruffly. Gaz waited a moment for anything further. When nothing came, she simply shrugged.

“Sure, whatever. Don’t bleed on the couch,” she called after herself. She disappeared up the stairs. Gir came back into the room toting a soda and sat on the couch next to Dib. He glanced over at the little robot and sighed.

“Gir, what happened to Zim?” Dib asked, digging into the med-kit.

“Master is upset. You’ll make him less upset!” Gir said with all the confidence in the world. That didn’t answer Dib’s question in the slightest, but he got the sneaking suspicion that it was the best he was going to get.

~*~

Dib swayed on his heels indecisively a moment. He was holding Gir in his arms like a stuffed bear, having given the robot a lollipop in exchange for a quiet drive to Zim’s base, and checked his watch again. He’d opted to let Zim cool off before he tried to return Gir to the base, if he had woken up with Gir still in the house that was. If he hadn’t, and Gir had left at some point while he slept, he was still planning to return to the base under the thin excuse of wanting to be sure Gir had found his way home. As it stood, he woke up before his alarm because Gir thought it was a good idea to jump on Dib’s bed and had ended up on his stomach.

Dib rubbed at his arms a moment at the stop sign, heavily debating if Zim was really cooled off enough for him to trespass inside the base again. He told himself that surely, he was, but he wasn’t ever entirely sure with Zim. Another part of him whispered how he could always say Gir had needed returned and that should count as an invitation. It was a weak argument; but it was all he had given Zim didn’t believe his concern for him was genuine. Dib wondered if Irkens were that unused to the sentiment. Gir was humming contently beside him in the passenger seat. He’d stopped at a convenience store to get Gir a snack just to keep him quiet on the drive. It forced a detour past the park and Dib had started to zone out driving.

He caught a familiar shape out of the corner of his eye. Gir’s excited squeal was confirmation before Dib’s brain had even completely registered Zim’s PAK as he pulled closer. Dib slowed the truck, rolling the window down enough that Gir could leap out and onto Zim’s arm. Zim jerked first, whipping around to spot that it was Gir latching himself to his arm, and Zim’s bristling shoulders settled. Dib furrowed his brow at the delayed reaction. Zim sighed, taking Gir up in his arms like a stuffed bear. Dib cleared his throat.

“Hey.” He called. Zim glanced at him, keeping his slow pace. Dib had to keep glancing at the road to keep on track. “Okay, hey. Hey!”

“What.”

Dib sighed, stopping the truck. He scooted over to the passenger side and pushed the door open to call after Zim. Gir kicked his feet, giggling and squealing at nothing either Zim or Dib could see or understand. Dib stood at his door, calling out to Zim as he walked away.

“Don’t you want a ride?”

“Absolutely not.” Zim shot back at him gruffly. Dib sighed. He wasn’t in just as bad a mood as before; but it wasn’t a great one to find the Irken in. Dib, never being one to pass up poking this particular hornet nest, revved his engine to catch up to Zim again. He was quickly running out of road to talk with.

“Are you sure? It’s cloudy and might… rain,” Dib says, emphasizing his last word. 

Zim faltered in his pace a moment, his face scrunching up scrutinizingly to the sky. The clouds were indeed grey, encompassing the entire sky in almost an even blanket of cover. There was some slight variation, but nothing noteworthy. Zim grimaced. Dib waited for his answer, nervous if he said yes or no, because on one hand if he said no Dib was free to pester him the entire walk to his base. However, on the other, that meant giving his ‘kind-of-not’ nemesis a ride in his truck. It was a close proximity that Dib wasn’t entirely prepared for but he wasn’t the kind of person to leave his enemy to risk getting an acid bath if he could help it. Zim gave a gruff scoff and started walking again.

“No.”

“Are you for… c’mon, for God’s sake…” Dib grumbled. Dib’s truck roared past him and stopped just before the next stop sign. Dib climbed out the passenger side, leaning on the door as he gave Zim an unimpressed and annoyed look. Zim copied it back to him. “Well, _excuse me_ , Mr. I’m So Much Smarter Than You; I just wanted to make sure you got home in case it rained.”

Zim paused, studying Dib a moment. He held Gir a little closer and looked back up at the clouds again. He flicked his antennae under his wig. The air was more humid than it had been this morning. It wasn’t a good sign, but it wasn’t a sure fire tell that it was going to rain. He hadn’t taken a paste bath in days. The paste he’d had on him was long gone by now. He hadn’t thought to check before leaving even at the Computer’s insistence. As much as he loathed being stuck in such a small space with Dib he loathed the thought of the rain more. Zim sighed heavily, trudging up to Dib’s truck as if he were defeated and stopped just before the passenger door.

“ _…Fine_.”

Dib smiled. He crawled backward into the truck. Zim climbed in after him, setting Gir down on the cushion in front of himself between his legs so he could keep him secure on the seat. As he expected, Gir immediately tried to wriggle free. Zim rolled the window up as Dib started to drive down the road. He buckled himself and Gir into the seat.

“Why were you risking stranding yourself in the rain?” Dib asks. Zim gave him a sidelong glance. Dib flicked his fingers at him, sarcasm dripping heavily off his voice. “Not that I care, of course.”

Zim hunched his shoulders, looking pointedly out the window. Dib could already tell he wasn’t going to get an answer that easily. He didn’t want to repeat the threat of bleeding out by Zim’s claws from days prior and let the matter drop for now. He was going to bring it up again—he just knew himself too well by now –but somewhere with more space.

A crack of thunder vibrated the windows and Dib glanced around outside. The sky had grown considerably darker around them. Dib grimaced at the sky. It had turned suddenly stormy many times over his life—enough that he wouldn’t be surprised to hear that the wind had carried the storm unexpectedly in their direction—and just prayed it didn’t hail. He couldn’t fit the truck into the garage. Gaz’s car took up whatever space was leftover after Dib’s homemade lab took up the other half of the garage. 

Dib stopped at a stop sign, glancing over at Zim when another crack of thunder hit, preset by lightning. Zim looked… uncomfortable. Actually; “uncomfortable” seemed to be an understatement. Dib could almost be certain that if he could, he’d see Zim sweating. The rain started not long afterward. It came down softly at first, with a few droplets hitting his windshield at a time, before a full-blown downpour hit his windshield. Dib had his wipers going full blast and could still almost not see the road. He groaned, knowing that it wasn’t going to clear up while he drove. He was better off waiting it out. He parked the truck along the side of the road, still outside the edge of the park.

Dib sat back in his seat with a sigh. He flicked the truck off. The rain brought with it enough cool air that he didn’t need the AC on for now. He didn’t want to waste the gas keeping it on. He looked up at Zim and felt a pain in his chest. Zim was stiff, hunched over Gir like he was shielding the robot from the rain, with his back arched almost unnaturally. Gir was completely oblivious to the threat the rain would have on his circuitry. Unlike Zim, it seemed, Gir was aware that truck was going to keep them dry. Zim himself was staring nervously out the window as the water slid down the glass in rivets.

Dib was grateful for the contacts, or else he wouldn’t be sure where Zim was looking. His eyes were flicking around the truck wildly with each strike of lightning or major shift in the patterns of the rain coming down the windows. Dib heard fabric tearing and finally noticed Zim was clutching at the fabric of the cushion in front of Gir. His claws dug into the seat, some of the stuffing poking out around his fingers, as he closed his fists more and more with each thunderclap.

Dib felt terrible seeing Zim act so… breakable. Dib didn’t have a phobia himself. He couldn’t find one when he first started to explore the paranormal regardless how hard he had tried. Despite this, he knew what one was. Zim’s fear of the rain was justified—expectedly when the very water that fell from the sky caused burns—so Dib wasn’t sure it was appropriate to call it a phobia if he were honest. Regardless, it was painful to watch. He saw a tremble hit Zim’s shoulders when a particularly loud and harsh clap of thunder made the windshield shutter.

Dib leaned back in his seat, setting the radio to play on the truck’s battery. Zim turned his attention to the new noise, seemingly grateful for the distraction even if he never admitted it. Dib sat in silence with him, the only sound being the music and Gir’s occasional commentary on it or the weather outside when he finally caught onto what was going on outside the windows. Zim managed to lean back into the seat of the truck at some point, setting his legs up on the dashboard and clutching Gir closely, but his face was still stern.

“When it’s done raining so hard, I can drive again,” Dib says. 

Zim hummed, burying his face behind Gir’s suit. Dib hadn’t expected a thank you. He wasn’t about to boast that he had told Zim so about the potential weather shift. It was enough, he felt, that Zim was effectively trapped in the truck with him while the storm raged outside.

“Hey, it can’t get to you,” Dib says. Zim flicked his gaze towards him. “The lightning can’t hurt us so long as we’re in the truck, too. In case you were wondering.”

Zim had been wondering that, but he wasn’t about to voice it, and he certainly wasn’t going to say anything now. Gir started to kick his legs and hum, unperturbed by the water around them. Zim sank further into the seat. His PAK was trying to calm him down; but; the effort was less than the anxiety Zim could feel in his chest. His PAK kept his heart rate steady, but it ultimately did little to calm Zim down. He could still see the water surrounding him from inside the truck and he could still hear it. Typically, he would disappear under the base until the storm had passed. He couldn’t hear it in the base.

Zim’s shoulders gave a shudder and he tried to sit back. It was a poor attempt given he was already set so far into the cushion. He grimaced, unable get any further from the water outside. Dib saw right through the attempt. He leaned on the steering wheel, staring at Zim until finally Zim fixed him with a glare.

“What?”

“He speaks!” Dib declared. Zim groaned, considering how much the rain would truly hurt if he ran the entire way back to the forest. He opted against it (the trees were horrible cover in such a downpour) and resigned to Dib’s prodding questions that followed. “But you sound hoarse.”

 _No shit_ , Zim thought.

“Are you sick? Or were you screaming into the void out there?” Dib asks. Zim gave him a forlorn look. He had to hand it to Dib, at least. He knew how to distract someone. “Well, I do it, so it’s not that weird to think about.”

“…You what?”

“Scream. Just, go somewhere remote, and scream it out. It makes me feel better,” Dib confesses. Zim stared at him long enough that Dib looked away with a flush of embarrassment. He started tapping the steering wheel. Zim finally, mercifully, turned his gaze away from Dib and out the window.

That lasted all of a few moments, and flash of lightning, before he was sitting up and turning his back to the door. Dib watched him out of the corner of his eye. Zim paused with his PAK facing the window and seemed to think better of it. He turned the other way, Gir giggling as he was shuffled about, until his PAK was facing Dib. Dib looked it over. 

The PAK was something he always had a fond curiosity over. For obvious reasons he’d never gotten a good look at it before. He could see a slight texture to the metal and the smallest of inclines for the opening slots to slid away under the main surface area. He had never noticed before that the three circles let off a small amount of light. Dib leaned a little closer, unable to help himself, to get a better look. He could hear the softest hum of machinery working inside of it past the rain. He reached a hand up, not even making it halfway past the divider cushion before the top slow of the PAK slid open. The tip of a leg poked out tentatively. Dib froze immediately. 

The PAK leg remained in its slow, the tip barely seen past the lip. Dib looked cautiously up at Zim. He really didn’t want to risks that he’d be painting the inside of his truck with red. To his shock, Zim was still staring out the window, clutching Gir. Dib looked back at the PAK leg. He retracted his hand experimentally. The leg disappeared back into the PAK a moment later. Dib paused and slowly inched his hand closer again. As he suspected, the PAK leg started to poke out again once his hand started to get close. Dib gaped, moving his hand back and forth, testing the range of the PAK. Zim perked up a little at some point, turning to find Dib in the midst of his experiment. Zim sat correctly in the seat, smacking Dib’s hand away with a scowl.

“What is the matter with you?!” he asks in a growl. Dib rubbed at his hand. Zim had scratched the back of his palm. It wasn’t deep—as if he’d been scratched by a cat’s fleeting claws—but it stung.

“Ow.”

“Answer.”

“I was just… does that thing have a proximity alert or something?” Dib asks. Zim squinted at him. 

Dib was a patient man. He could wait for the answer the entire storm if that’s what it took. Zim was even more patient. Zim was also on edge and it didn’t look like he was going to step away from that edge until the storm let up a little. Dib pursed his lips, looking pointedly annoyed out at the road. He didn’t need Zim’s answer. He could infer it himself. The PAK definitely had a proximity sensor—which explained the sometimes AI-type behavior it had. It didn’t explain how it seemed to make its own decisions on movement half the time. Dib was still eager to test that theory out any day. If Zim would ever allow it.

Zim flicked the radio on, turning the music down once it was one. It was just barely loud enough to hear over the rain. Dib figured, with no real evidence other than observation, that Zim was trying to avoid stimulus overload of some kind by leaving it so low. He couldn’t confirm that idea—but, it was an issue he potentially shared. Dib drummed his fingers on the wheel to the beat of the song.

“So, since we’re stuck, want to hear about the mission?” Dib asks. Zim let his head knock against the cushion with a sigh. He’d hoped Dib had forgotten about that.

“You’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Okay, so we’re going to the woods outside of the state—” Dib began. Zim didn’t bother suppressing his groan. Gir laughed gleefully, waving his arms up for Dib to pick him up. Dib obliged, hardly pausing at all. “—and it’ll be a trip, so we need to prep for a few days. The Swollen Eyeball wants me to get evidence that it’s in the area. We don’t have to engage with it. I just need footage of it. Or a hair sample. Or a foot caste if I can find a viable print.”

Zim let him ramble on. Dib fell into similar tangents unprompted regularly. Zim had lost count—if he didn’t prompt his PAK to remind him—of all the rants Dib had subjected him to. To Zim’s annoyance, Gir never seemed to tire of hearing them. It was a double-edged sword in that regard. Dib could rattle off as much paranormal fact as he wanted to Gir, and Zim was captive to the same rant half the time. The other half of the time Zim found he didn’t mind the rambling. At the moment, however, it was grating on his nerves.

“—and I’ve got a hunter’s nest to—”

“DIB, SHUT UP!!” Zim screeched. Dib jumped in his seat, his arms flying up on instinct. Zim threw Gir at him. Dib barely caught the robot in time to save his glasses.

“What?!”

“I do not want to hear about the blasted mission! I agreed so you would leave my base, that is all!”

Dib gaped at him, offended. He set Gir down on the divider cushion, fuming. Gir looked between the two as they fought.

“Well, excuse me for wanting to give you ample time to prepare! I figured my partner would want to know what to expect,” Dib says. Zim growled, his posture reminding Dib of a heckling dog. Dib inched his hand closer to Gir. _A shield if I must…_ he thought warily.

“Do not refer to me as your ‘partner’. We are not partners! I am not coming on any other inane mission you intend to carry out once this one is done and I no longer owe you the promise!” Zim declared.

“What, you’re just going to hide out in your base or the woods all day forever, then?” Dib asks. Zim gave his own offended gasp.

“It is not your business what I do!”

“It is my business—”

“Lies!”

“I’m not going to just stand by and watch you be a freakin’ emo all year—”

“I AM NOT A BIRD!!”

“READ A DICTIONARY!”

“I’m a bird!”

“Gir!”

Gir shot up, his rockets already active, and blasted through the passenger window. Zim shrieked, darting to Dib’s side of the truck in an instant. Dib lost his breath as he hit the driver door. He was pressed into the seat, Zim’s claws digging into his shoulder as the alien cowered on his lap and cursed his robot in not just Irken but various different alien languages. Dib made a mental note to catalog those for later. He winced when Zim jerked, losing his balance in his vigor to shout out what punishments he was gong to dole out against Gir, and his claws definitely left cuts on his shoulder. Dib whimpered at the pain and Zim stopped moving.

Dib sighed, letting his body sink into the seat. Zim was frozen on his lap, seemingly processing what he was doing there, and unwilling to get off. Dib couldn’t entirely blame him. He didn’t have much room left in the truck that was going to stay dry. Now he had to clean mud from Zim’s boots, repair his seats, replace a window, and get blood stains out all at the same time. He was doomed. His truck was forever marked. He gave up the hope of getting the stains out completely short of replacing the entire seat covering.

Dib felt a weight at his collarbone. Zim laid his head down against him. His eyes were squeezed shut and he shivered once. Dib noticed the rain had started to lighten up; but was still coming in through the window. The passenger seat was a loss for Zim, and Dib suspected the divider seat wasn’t going to be an easy sell, either. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Zim drive. Finally, Dib resolved to reach behind the seats with the arm he could move and retrieved a blanket. He draped it over Zim. Zim jerked up, pushing as far away from Dib as the wheel pressing into his side would allow, looking thoroughly mortified. Dib said nothing. He adjusted the blanket to cover Zim all the way over even his head, protecting him from any possible droplets of rain.

“Gir can fly home.” Dib grumbles, eyeing up the window and calculating the cost of repairs.

Maybe he could just lay a tarp over it. If he had duct tape, he’d have blocked it with the blanket. He regretted never resupplying that for himself when he had the chance. Giving his nemesis a ride home in a storm certainly had never been on his docket for the day. He’d planned to drop Gir off, pester Zim some more to be sure he wasn’t dead, and go home to prep for the trip. He’d sort of accomplished one of those goals. Now, however, with so little room in the truck’s cab and already knowing the difficulty of trying to drive at the moment wasn’t worth it, he was stuck waiting until the rain stopped. Dib felt bad—this must be exactly how it feels when it rains once school lets out for Zim. Trapped and waiting. Even after the rain would stop, Zim would have to walk home wary of cars driving through the puddles. Dib had thought before how much that would be a hinderance, but now he felt it to some capacity.

“Check the weather when you’re leaving the base and I’ll give you a ride just to make sure you don’t melt, ok?” Dib offers. Zim eyed his suspiciously.

“Why?”

“Wh—because I want to, ok? That’s all the reason I need,” Dib says. He turned away from Zim, taking his phone out to scroll through his email instead.

Zim seemed to relax a little, laying back down against Dib with a huff. He drew his legs in, glaring at the rain through the window. He wondered to himself why he had even left the base. Dib hadn’t been entirely wrong in his assumption that Zim had been letting off some anger in the woods. He had guessed the wrong method. Having heard it, however, Zim was considering it. Perhaps it would help.

He curled in on himself a little more. 

The rain took another hour to pass. Dib’s phone was almost dead by that point—he really had to remember to plug it in at night—and he looked up to see that the drizzle of rain had eventually stopped as well. He readjusted in the seat, jostling Zim out of whatever doze he’d let himself fall into.

“Hey, it’s done.”

Zim looked up, the blanket falling off his head. He sat straighter in an attempt to stretch. It failed. He grumbled something Dib didn’t understand and draped the blanket over the middle seat so he could sit down. Dib stretched alongside him, finally free of the weight on his lap. He opened his door to stand outside and really stretch his muscles. Zim clamored out after him once the droplets stopped falling. He shook himself out on the road. Dib looked to the truck and then to Zim.

“You don’t want a ride?” he asks. Zim paused, keeping his back to Dib as he thought. He shook his head, walking around the back of the truck to avoid looking at Dib while he went to the sidewalk.

“No.” he says. Dib paused before clamoring through the cab of the truck to cut Zim off on the other side. He flung the door open, Zim jumped back to avoid any potential stray water droplets and glowered at him, and he Dib dropped onto the sidewalk.

“I can give you a ride even if it’s not raining.” Dib says.

“I know that.” Zim claims. He shuffled on his feet back and forth. “…Thank you. For the truck.”

Dib blinked at him. He had never, in his life, heard Zim thank anyone for anything. Not genuinely. He blinked again. “Um. Y-you’re welcome.”

“…It’s still a disgusting piece of machinery, though.” Zim says. 

Dib deflated a little. He had, on some level, expected that kind of comment to backend the thanks. He couldn’t expect anything better, however, given Zim had already exceeded his expectations by saying ‘thanks’ at all. Zim took Dib’s brief instance of thought as his own cue to flit past him and down the sidewalk. Dib jumped, whirling around.

“I’m coming by tomorrow for the trip, so be ready to go!”

Zim waved his hand. “Yes, yes, alright!”

Dib watched him go for a moment longer before he regarded his truck again. He sighed, knowing he’d have to do a make-shift patch job for the window until he could get it into the shop. Dib sighed, climbing in. He was already driving down the street when he heard Gir’s telltale giggling. Gir flew into the main cab from the very window he’d smashed. Dib swerved, stopping the car only a few yards down the street. Gir shook himself out, getting water all over the cab.

“AH! GIR!!”

Gir looked around. “Where’s Master?”

Dib sighed, looking GIr over. There was no way in hell he was going to risk Gir tackling Zim like _that_.

“He’s already gone home. But YOU,” Dib said, grabbing Gir by the back of his collar when he turned to leave. “Are staying with me another night. Or at least until I can get that costume through the wash.”

“AAAAWW!”

“I’ll give you tacos.”

Gir stopped whining, celebrating instead with a delighted squeal. Dib started down the street again. He could return Gir tomorrow.


	3. Into the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3! Now we get into the fun part. Know there are at least 2 other hunts planned for this series. I’m excited for the other two—though fair warning right now, those might get more violent/gore-y just purely because of the monsters that will be present. I’ll be surprised, and pleased, if someone can guess what the third monster is once I post it lmao
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: I edited this chapter after some concerns were brought to my attention; and frankly, i think it's tighter because of it. I think I'm going to review chapters in the future and do at least two or more passes before posting them. I'll be beta-reading chapters for this and Curious Dib to really tighten them up in the future and make sure I don't repeat the same mistake again.

Dib packed his bag to the brink. He shook it out, gaining any spare space he could with the escaping air, so that he could force the zipper closed. Gir was laying in his desk chair, sucking on a spare lollipop Dib had found in the pantry. He was sure it was expired, but that didn’t mean anything to the robot. Dib had seen Gir consume some highly questionable things in the past. He scooped Gir up and carried him like a child. He slipped out the front door, catching sight of Gaz playing one of her online games on his way by. He thought for a moment about telling her he was heading out and decided against it. He didn’t want to be the target of her wrath if he interrupted her. He could text her later. She would put two and two together on her own. He had been talking her ear off the entire night with his excitement.

He drove to Zim’s house with a stupid smile on his face. He hadn’t been able to go on a proper Bigfoot hunt in a long while. His last proper excursion had been over a year ago, when he had nothing planned for Spring Break and had a tenuous agreement with Zim that he wouldn’t do any scheming while he was gone. It had only been possible, if he were honest, because he’d threatened to send Gaz after him if Zim had pulled anything funny. It had been a bold-faced lie; but Zim never figured that out. It had been a failure of a hunt, but Dib had just been happy he could go on one without much worry.

He parked and waltzed up to Zim’s front door, already accustomed to the deactivated gnomes. He thought, idly, if he should tell Zim he needed to reset them. It might make waltzing in like he had been markedly harder if he did, though. Dib went for the door handle, keeping up his momentum and slamming right into the door. He bounced off, rubbing his shoulder and dropping Gir as he fell onto the pavement. The door was finally locked, despite the deactivated gnomes, and of course he hadn’t expected that. He should have at least thought of it—but he couldn’t blame himself for it. It had been unlocked for days already. Dib huffed, readjusting his bag as he stood, and knocked overly loud. He should have expected some form of last-minute retaliation, he supposed. Gir sat against his foot, almost done with the sucker. It was remarkably easy to get him to shut up for a few minutes sometimes.

He heard the very faint but familiar whir of the elevator inside. Dib waited, tapping his foot, right up until Zim finally unlocked the door. He wasn’t in his disguise; and looked annoyed to see him. Dib stared at him a moment. He snapped out of his momentary lapse in focus.

“Where’s your disguise?” Dib asked. It was more on reflex to cure his curiosity and Zim didn’t seem all that forthcoming. Ever. But; he always asks any question that popped into his head for the rare chances when Zim would let slip something interesting. While it was mostly contained to their occasional rooftop conversations, Dib held out hope that he’d be able to catch Zim in one of those moods on any given day.

“Didn’t feel like wearing it.” Zim stepped to the side so Dib could slip past.

Dib was shocked that Zim had opened the door for even a moment without the disguise on. Anyone could have been passing by. Dib could have whipped out a camera to snap a photo and sprint away to his truck. With the broken window, however, it would have been much easier for Zim to get inside after him. Zim even took his time shutting the door. An uneasy feeling crept up Dib’s spine.

“It’s dangerous to answer the door without it, isn’t it?” he asks. Zim shrugs. Dib’s look of concern annoyed him—Dib could tell by how his antennae bent forward and to the sides a little—and Zim sighed. “I knew it was you. Why would I bother?”

“Why wouldn’t you bother?” Dib asks. He knew Zim was smart enough to know about the camera possibility.

“I didn’t care. Are you ready to go on this stupid trip?”

“Of course, I am.” Dib adjusted his bag to emphasis this. He looked around the base. It was lit this time, the eerie feeling of it gone now that actual lights were working again, looking much more appropriate. “So, if you’re ready to go I have the truck—”

“We are not taking that disgusting machine. We are taking the Voot,” Zim says.

“But—”

“We are taking the Voot,” Zim stressed. Dib held his hands up.

“Alright, alright. No complaints if I get to ride in that,” Dib says joyfully. Gir ran back inside, slamming the door on his way in, and pranced to the couch. Zim tossed him the remote with hardly a thought.

Dib went as far as the kitchen before he realized he didn’t know the way to the Voot for their trip if he wasn’t climbing through the walls. Zim came up behind him, hooking his arm around Dib’s back and dragging him alongside him. Dib was shoulder to shoulder with Zim as he did this. It wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, just something new. Zim guided him to a door that Dib hadn’t even noticed was there in all the times he’d been at the base. The door was the same color as the wall, lacking a handle in place of a small indent in the wood. Zim slid it into the wall by hooking his claw in the indent. Behind was a set of stairs leading up. Dib took the initiative and broke free of Zim’s grip to bound up them.

He hit the top of the stairs, the room opening into the attic, and looked around excitedly. The space acted as the garage bay for the Voot. Said vehicle was on the launching pad. Zim came up behind Dib, watching him gawk over the Voot like a child in a candy store. Dib was unimpeded for the first time and without fear of being caught spying by a prowling alien. He was going to enjoy this chance.

“We can really use this?” Dib asks excitedly.

“Yes, but I am piloting it,” Zim says harshly. “You will be seated and not touching anything.”

“Ok, whatever, but we’re using it?” Dib asks again. The blatant disregard of Zim’s order had the alien prickling in annoyance. Dib went to touch the windshield and Zim’s hand smacked his away.

“You will not touch my precious Voot! Your filthy hands will remain with you,” Zim growled. “The only reason we are taking the Voot is because I cannot STAND to be in that smelly, stupid truck of yours.”

“It’s not that bad,” Dib retorts. Zim gives him an equally disgusted and disbelieving look. “It wasn’t before yesterday!”

“It WAS.” Zim insists, opening the Voot’s windshield. Dib opted not to mention that Zim couldn’t have rightfully known that, given that he hadn’t actually been inside the truck before yesterday.

Instead Dib hooked his foot onto the engine, lifting himself up. He felt Zim’s hands on his thighs and he was unceremoniously pushed inside. Dib tumbled onto the floor, sitting up with his shoulder sore again. He looked over the control panel and hovered his and over it, trying to discern the Irken language that was covering most of the panels in labels. Zim lifted himself inside with his PAK legs and took up the pilot seat. He harshly smacked Dib’s hand away. 

“Do you even know what any of this says?” Zim ask.

“Well, no—”

“Then don’t touch it! You could blow us up. That is why I’m piloting and you’re sitting in silence.” Zim says condescendingly. The ceiling to the attic started to open, the mechanisms whirring around them, and almost drowning Dib’s voice out.

“My truck is perfectly fine!” Dib insisted. Fine, save for the dent in the back bumper and busted window. Zim paused, his antennae lowered in annoyance. Dib was already getting close to being kicked out of the Voot before they’d even taken off. Dib decided to dial it back just a little. He sat back on the floor in a huff.

“Don’t you have your own garbage ship?” Zim asked.

“Tak’s ship? It won’t make the trip. I can’t get the engines to stabilize,” Dib admits. It was true for the most part. The engines let him take off, but they couldn’t hold on long in flight. He hadn’t managed to sparce out what most of the buttons on board even did, and he wasn’t risking a second attempt at downloading his own personality into it just yet. Zim scoffed at him, starting up the Voot’s engines.

“Years of tinkering with that ship wasted, I see. I could have had it running far before now,” Zim says. He had a mocking laugh to his voice. Dib glowered at him.

“Well, I don’t have a super-computer strapped to my back. It’s not like I can read Irken, either. I don’t have anyone to teach me. I admit, it’s guess work. Slow and painstaking guess work,” Dib spat. The Voot began to rise steadily. He eyed the PAK. Zim caught his gaze and smirked smugly.

“Jealous, worm?”

“Hell no. I’d rather die than have that thing stuck to me,” Dib says. He shivered at the thought. He knew that it attached to Zim’s back through tubing in the spine. Dib didn’t want anything near his spine unless it was required surgery. That was the sole exception.

Zim’s antennae twitched just the slightest. He opened his mouth, paused, and shut it again. Dib shifted to a more comfortable position, acutely aware of the tenser atmosphere. Zim’s antenna made the slightest flinch in Dib’s direction when he shifted. Zim’s expression was quick to disappear, like someone unwilling to reflect on a bad memory. He forced a lever forward and Dib was hit with a force that brought him to the Voot’s flooring with a yelp. The Voot rose into the sky with alarming speed until they were surrounded by nothing but clouds. Then, further, until the clouds were below them. And even further until finally they were higher than planes.

The Voot finally leveled out, giving Dib the opportunity to check the health of his spine. The backpack had thankfully broken some of his fall. He hoped and prayed nothing had broken inside. He hadn’t heard anything, but he could never be too certain.

“What was that for?!”

Zim looked back at him smugly, scoffing. That scoff turned into laughter, the familiar sound something Dib didn’t even know he’d missed the last week. He’d be asking how the take-off was so fast if he wasn’t also so pissed about it.

“If that’s all it takes to down you, I’m not sure how your species has survived this long.” Zim says. “Taking off in broad daylight is risky. Better to be out of sight fast than risk a witness. Were you not just concerned about that?”

“I wasn’t concerned, I was confused,” Dib insists. He stretched, popping his back. He enjoyed the startled and slightly disturbed look Zim shoots him at the sound. “A little warning next time, yeah?”

“If there is a next time. …You’re breathing odd.” Zim says, returning his gaze to the control panel as he veered the ship to the right.

“What?”

Zim turns back, his eyes resting on Dib’s chest, antennae flicking as they focused on Dib’s breathing. “You’re breathing weird. And your pulse is accelerated. You may want to calm that down—”

“I almost had a heart attack with that lift off and those reactions surprise you?!” Dib shouts. “My body isn’t the same as yours, you bug!”

“I’m aware,” Zim seethes. A low growl accompanied his words. Dib feels uneasy at the statement.  
“What do you mean by that?” he asks warily.

“Altitude. There’s a sickness for it with humans, right? Just another reason you all should have developed a PAK equivalent,” Zim says, waving Dib’s concerns off.

“There is, but I’m breathing “weird” because humans don’t usually vault ourselves into the stratosphere within seconds,” Dib snarks.

He was tempted to grab the water gun from his bag; but thought better of it. While he was fairly certain he’d packed it, perhaps pissing off the alien that had all the power to just throw him out into the sky to die wasn’t the best idea. He could risk being in the base or jumping Zim in the street. The Voot was entirely out of his element. He wasn’t planning on dying today. Not when he had the chance of going on a good Bigfoot hunt again.

“I believe I would prefer you passed out depending on how far we’re going,” Zim says.

Dib was very tempted to look for that water gun. He instead decided to grab the GPS out of the front pouch. He throws it to Zim, hitting the alien in the back of the head. Zim grabbed the device from his seat and whirled around to fix Dib with a glare and a hiss. It wasn’t the ‘I am going to kill you’ hiss, so Dib figured he was still marginally safe. For now. He could always argue he hadn’t broken anything on the control panel or windshield, and barter for a pass for that.

“You’ll need that,” Dib says, mocking tone in his voice. Zim looked ready to crush the device rather than use it. “I was even nice enough to put the coordinates in it already.”

Zim’s hand shook as he fought the urge to break the GPS. Instead, he sets it roughly on the control panel so he could watch it. Dib took the reprieve for what it was as a chance to make sure he had really packed everything he had needed. He could feel the aggravation rolling off Zim in waves and he didn’t feel like letting his guard down before he was sure Zim wouldn’t mutilate him while he was distracted. He rummaged through the bag, taking out the larger items to check that everything was inside. The temporarily borrowed GPS, trackers, cameras, file folders to review should he need them, the foldable tree stand, a casting set for footprints…

“Will the trip take long?” he asks, only halfway through all his things. He double checked the castor wasn’t hardened.

“No.”

Straight and to the point. Something rare for the bug who preferred to rant for minutes on end to make a point or answer a question. Dib had noticed that Zim’s unwillingness to speak was a recent trend that had popped up right alongside his sudden dip in mood and patience. While Dib couldn’t be sure Zim ever had a lot of patience, it was noticeably low the last few days. Dib stood, steadying himself as he kicked his bag to the side. He felt like how he usually feels when he gets on a plane and tries to stand the first time. His body had to adjust to the speed and lack of solid ground to regain his footing. He almost wanted to take a nap, given he hadn’t slept as long as he should have the night before. He wanted to; but he wasn’t dumb enough to. He’d functioned on less sleep before. Pulling all-nighters to either spy on Zim or finish assignments he’d neglected had trained him in the ways of sleep deprived functionality well enough. 

“Good. Otherwise you’d have to deal with me longer,” Dib says sarcastically. Zim’s shoulders prickled a little. He banked the Voot to the side.

Dib stumbled into the pilot seat, jerking the chair in his attempt to catch himself. He falls to the floor, the chair swerving around from his grip. Zim shouted something in Irken and Dib received a kick to the gut. It wasn’t as hard as Zim had probably intended it. Dib’s swivel of the chair did land Zim in the perfect position to have kicked at him regardless if it was intentional or not, however. Despite the lost strength from Zim’s usual kicks, it had still knocked the wind out of him, and he gasped to get it back. Dib gave a nervous laugh at the venomous glare Zim was fixing him with.

“Why are you laughing?! You did that on purpose!” Zim shouts. “I should aim for you this time. A kick in the head, maybe!”

“No! No, I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear!” Dib said, waving his hands up in a mock surrender. He didn’t have the best control of them, his arms swaying with the sway of the Voot. The kick, combined with the sudden course change, had not helped him regain his balance at all. Zim turned in his chair to hit the autopilot before fixing Dib with a glare again. Dib started to panic when he caught sight of the rage on Zim’s face. “I didn’t! I didn’t!”

Zim narrowed an eye at him. He bared his teeth at the boy. “You insolent little speck.”

“Zim, I will fight back and I swear I will fight dirty.” Dib warned. “Don’t even think about it.”

“And what could you do about it, exactly?” Zim asked.

The confidence in his voice had Dib’s heartrate spiking. The color drained from his face. It was just like at Zim’s base, when he had, rather correctly, pointed out that Dib had walked into a scenario where he could die and Zim wouldn’t face any repercussions. Zim could open the hood of the Voot and throw Dib out and he’d be dead before he hit the ground. His heart would give out before that happened.

“Um…”

Dib leapt up, stumbling again towards his bag. He if could just reach the water gun he’d be fine. If he had been smarter, he’d have brought something else to use against Zim. He could have come alone. He could have—but had wanted backup and something was wrong with Zim and Dib just couldn’t bring himself to leave Zim alone for a trip that would have taken him a whole weekend. Thinking back on it, he had royally screwed himself. Being stuck in a ship, who knows how far into the sky, with an easily enraged alien was not his brightest idea. He should have pushed the use of the truck. It would have been a smaller space and taken significantly longer to get to where he had wanted to go, but at least it would have been on the ground. Agreeing to this was dumber than going into Zim’s base when he was already angry. He had somewhere to run when he was in the base. 

He felt something clasp around his hand. Another hand was at the back of his collar. Dib swatted at him, unable to think about how to get out of Zim’s grip when he was being lifted off the ground. He kicked back, getting Zim in the ribs. He felt bad doing it, but self-preservation was stronger.

“What was that for?!” Zim screeched.

“You just picked me up!” Dib shouted back. He shook off his coat to get out of Zim’s grip entirely.

Dib scrambled for his bag. He turned it over and dumped everything out. He was far from worried about breaking anything as he’d already taken all that out. To his horror, though, he looked over everything to find that the water gun wasn’t even there. Dib blanched, turning to see Zim glowering at him with a PAK leg pointing at him. Dib smiled awkwardly. He gave a nervous laugh and scooted to the back of the Voot. If Zim lunged at him again, he might be able to get the PAK leg stuck within the bag. That’d be one leg down and who knew how many more to go, however. He was at a distinct disadvantage.

De-escalation it was.

“Okay, so, let’s just calm down a moment,” Dib started. He still held the bag up in front of him for any attack Zim might unleash on him. “I really, really didn’t intend to hit the chair. I lost my balance.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Why would I intentionally antagonize you in the Voot? I’m not stupid,” Dib says. He watched the PAK leg slowly starting to retreat. “Were you really going to skewer me? Get blood all over the Voot?”

Dib wanted to bite his tongue. He’d already taunted the notion before, and it seemed to have worked, but he was on thin ice and had been for days. Zim narrowed his eyes and fell back into his chair, swiveling it around with a huff.

“I do not want to clean that mess up.” Zim says. Dib breathed a sigh of relief. While Zim could still toss him out like a ragdoll he was at least safe from being impaled. He started to gather up all the equipment he’d tossed aside in his panic. Zim tossed his coat to him. Dib caught it, slipping it back on. He eyed the back of Zim’s chair.

“Hey, are you okay?” Dib asks.

“You’ve already asked that. Have you forgotten?” Zim asks. Dib shook his backpack out to fit everything to try hiding his annoyance.

“No, but things change,” he says. “Are you okay?” 

Zim’s ribcage vibrated with another growl. He pinched his brow, his antennae starting to angle to the sides in annoyance. He knew Dib was going to pester him at some point. He’d been hoping, wistfully, that it would have taken longer. Now that he was calmer, Zim realized his already present agitation had only been shot up tenfold when Dib hit the chair. Zim glanced at the GPS. He was stuck with Dib for another hour. Dib poked his head into Zim’s peripheral. Zim closed his eyes, taking a breath before turning to Dib with a weak glare.

“I still do not wish to discuss it,” Zim says. “Stop pretending you care.”

“I’m not pretending,” Dib says defiantly. “Why do you think that?”

“Why would you care? We’re enemies. You hate me, don’t you?” Zim asks.

“Not… entirely,” Dib confesses. Zim blinked at him. “I-I mean, we fight a lot, yeah. But, I don’t know, I don’t hate you. You’re really the only person I talk to.”

“I recall.”

“It’s hard to hate the only person who doesn’t ignore you,” Dib says. Zim hummed. He could see the logic in that. Dib certainly wasn’t wrong. “Do you hate me?”

“No,” Zim said, the word out of his mouth before he could stop it. He could already see Dib’s entire body lifting up and he snapped his head around at him. “DO NOT THINK I WILL NOT MAIM YOU BECAUSE OF THAT.”

Dib just smiled dumbly at him. Zim wanted to kick him again. If Gir were there he could throw the robot at Dib’s head. Zim shoved Dib away and he hit the floor. Dib rubbed at his back, still smiling like an idiot.

“Ow.”

“Suffer.”

“Okay, okay,” Dib pulled himself back up, leaning on the pilot’s seat. He was careful not to jostle it too much to keep Zim’s shoulders from bristling again. He was having to try to not piss Zim off. “I appreciate you coming, by the way. I didn’t want to come alone.”

“Couldn’t handle it?” Zim asks.

“No. But I would prefer the company. And you’d make a good bodyguard,” Dib says. Zim tried to elbow him but Dib curved his body away. If there was something Zim begrudgingly respected about Dib, it was his height. He was sure that was a product of his PAK’s programming, but he couldn’t help it.

“I will not be guarding you,” Zim says. Dib frowned.

“But, when I asked I said the PAK legs—”

“That is not why I agreed to come,” Zim points out quickly. He gestured to the map, ignoring Dib’s following questions. “We’re headed where, exactly?”

Dib sighed, deflating and knowing he wasn’t going to be getting anything else out of Zim soon. He was lucky to have gotten what he had.

“A National Park. There’s a good amount of Bigfoot sightings there, especially since the warm season has started.”

“And we had to go across the country? Do your superiors not have local field agents?” Zim questions. 

“I don’t know, but it’s Bigfoot and I’m registered as an expert on those,” Dib says.

Ah, that explained it. Really, Zim wasn’t complaining that much. The statistics were interesting, though Zim took them to with a grain of salt, he was impressed enough to be at least curious of the area himself. If he wasn’t going alone, he could accompany Dib and have someone who knew about these things tagging along. That said, he was annoyed that Dib had bene chosen instead of someone closer. Zim hadn’t been able to see or experience much in the way of the paranormal since he’d arrived on the planet (save for the nightmare fuel that was one Halloween and the demon incident—honestly he wasn’t sure what Dib was thinking) and found himself almost excited. He doubted they’d find anything. For the amount of belief in these creatures, sightings were curiously sparse. He was still willing to give it a shot, however.

Dib moved to the back of the Voot to grab his bag and the file folders inside. He settled down on the floor, his back resting against the loveseat Zim had added at some point against the wall. He looked it over and turned to him.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s better than sitting in this seat for days on end,” Zim says.

“…Fair enough. When did you install it?” Dib asks. He set his bag on it, flipping through files.

“A while ago.”

Zim watched their dot move closer to their location slowly. He tilted his head back, watching the clouds while Dib looked through the papers in his hands.

~*~

Zim stared out the window, watching as their dot drew close enough to hover over their location. Zim lowered the Voot enough to just barely peek under the clouds. It was a cloudy day in the area, giving Zim ample opportunity to pop back into the natural camouflage of the clouds should he need to. He scanned the forestry under him, noting that there wasn’t any sign of civilization for miles. That at least made this easier. He would have to keep in mind that Dib, though he challenged the notion sometimes, was not an idiot when it came to what he knew best and should try to listen to him while they were out here.

Zim lowered the Voot into one of the only clearings he could see. It was hardly open enough for the Voot to lower into place without breaking the branches on its way past. Once on solid ground, Zim leaned back and cracked the windshield open. The hiss of new air filling the Voot was a sound he found oddly satisfying. Zim pushes the windshield open all the way, jumping out. Dib grabbed his bag, double checking he had everything inside and nothing was broken, before following him out. Dib stumbled out, falling on his face after slipping on the metal. Zim laughed at him on his way down, breaking into a sort of shrieking laugh when Dib faceplanted. Dib glowered at him. Relieved as he was that Zim was laughing again as opposed to his depressive state days prior, it was still annoying that it was at Dib’s expense.

Zim calmed down, cloaking the Voot with a small device coming out of the PAK. The Voot was covered in a shimmer akin to oil slick on water as the light refraction was manipulated and Dib watched it disappear before his eyes. He brushed himself off, looking up and seeing that it was completely gone. If it weren’t for the fact that he knew it was there, Dib wouldn’t have been any wiser. It was going to be a pain in the ass to find later if he decided to ditch the alien.

A single leaf fell from a tree and landed on one of the engines (Dib could only guess based on height). He still thought better of it. If he ditched Zim in these woods he would likely die before he found the ship. His doom would be either by a bear or by a creature—or exposure. Dib doubted he would last long enough to starve to death or die of thirst, but he equally doubted he’d be able to find his way back to the Voot’s clearing—especially after dark if they took that long. Really, there were so many ways he could die out here alone. Zim probably had some sort of homing beacon in his PAK to find his own way back to the ship.

Dib looked himself over. He was already covered in dirt and grass and he hadn’t even passed a tree yet. Zim was inconspicuously far enough away that Dib couldn’t dirty him as well. He smiled devilishly, sneaking up beside Zim and swinging an arm around his shoulders. The immediate reaction of disgust was worth it, and Dib reveled in the fact Zim was so put out by something as simple as dirt. The planet was covered in it and yet it seemed Zim couldn’t get past it. Finally, Zim pushed him off.

“You insufferable insect!” he shrieked.

“C’mon, that was funny,” Dib says. Zim glared at him a moment before stomping off. Dib could see the dirt covering portions of his back and considered it a win.

Dib took a notebook out of the bag, thumbing through notes he’d taken on the area. If they turned left and stayed in that direction, they could hit a sighting heavy spot within an hour. He started off and almost stumbled more than once over roots and forest debris. Never enough that he lost his footing; just enough that he had to add an extra hop to his step to keep from faceplanting again. There weren’t any trails for him to use. Not even deer trails. Dib searched his pockets for the GPS, coming up empty. He paused, turning back to the direction of the Voot and catching sight of Zim giving him a strange look.

“What?” Zim asks.

“I forgot the GPS in the Voot…” Dib confesses. Zim sighed, looking put out. He reached his hand out.

“Show me where to go on the map,” he says. Dib held it up, pointing to the spot. Zim scanned it a moment and stood straight. It took a moment before he started to veer to the right. “It’s a few minutes this way.”

“How do you know that?” Dib asks. He followed regardless, knowing already that he could be lost if he didn’t, and he would severely lessen his chances of finding a Bigfoot if he did.

“PAKs have something similar to GPS,” Zim says, his tone blatantly one of bragging. He was feeding his own ego and Dib felt a headache starting to form again. It was nice to know his assumption was right, though. The ease of getting that information was a welcome surprise.

“What’s the difference?” Dib asked, hoping Zim was still in a sharing mood. Typically, these moods only struck him on rooftop nights. Dib chalked it up to the change in scenery.

“It’s like a virtual map in our heads. I concentrate on where I want to go, it sets a leeway spot, and we navigate from there.” Zim explained. “Much easier than trying to look at a screen constantly.”

“So, like a videogame map?”

“Sure.”

Dib followed Zim until they’d hit the spot. He inspected the trees, assessing which one was the best width for his tree stand. He spotted it across the clearing and raced over to it. Zim followed him at a leisurely pace. Dib pulled the single seat stand from his bag, unfolding it into its shape. He grabbed one of the straps, biting it in his mouth, and started to climb. Zim watched him go, like watching a monkey, with a capacity of interest. Dib’s lean body made it easy for him to find hand holds far apart, and easier to lift himself up.

Once he was high enough, he sat himself on a branch and set up the stand. He slid back down the tree, slinging the bag over his back again. He started to climb his second time. Zim shook his head with a small chuckle that Dib missed. His PAK legs stretched out, reaching into the trunks of the surrounding trees to hoist him up. He reached Dib at the top before the boy could get himself into the tree stand. Dib hung, legs wrapped around the trunk and arms just now touching the stand, as Zim grinned smugly down at him from above. The PAK’s legs looked awfully like spider legs—and didn’t that suit Zim perfectly. Dib knew he had nicknamed him ‘bug’ for a reason.

Dib scowled at him. He dragged himself into the stand with a heavy sigh. “Could have helped me.”

“Didn’t feel like it. You looked like you had it handled,” Zim says smoothly. Dib glared at him with a side eye and started rummaging through his bag.

Dib debated throwing something from the bag at Zim; but he didn’t feel like getting gutted or thrown from the tree. He would most definitely break his leg if he did. He took out his surveillance equipment instead. A night vision camera with matching goggles, a flashlight, binoculars, and a flash grenade should he need it. He set it all out in front of him. Zim eyed the flash grenade curiously. Dib saw his hand reach out to poke it and he swatted it away. Zim hissed at him, rubbing the sore spot on his hand.

“No touching. It’s the only one I’ve got and it’s not for you.” Dib says.

“For what purpose does it serve? You are staying in the tree, aren’t you?” Zim asks. His PAK set him down on an equally sturdy neighboring branch. He still reached up to grasp a branch above him so he wouldn’t accidently be swayed off in a gust of wind or Dib if he decided to shove the alien. The boy in question rolled his eyes.

“It’s precautionary. I was planning to use it only if I got attacked by a bear or something.” Dib says. He stuffed it back into his bag. Zim was scoffing at him.

“As if a puny bear could do you any harm while I’m here,” Zim says, kicking his legs. Dib wasn’t blind to the narcissism brightening Zim’s mood. He would deal with it if it meant that Zim wasn’t in the mood to have whatever tantrum he’d had at his base here where no one would find Dib’s body.

Dib inspected the binoculars next. They checked out, zooming in and out at a decent speed, and were clean. He went through all the equipment, stopping at the night vision camera. He held it up, flipping it on, and peering through the lens. As he suspected, the image was blown out to almost imperceptible levels. He turned it on Zim, snapping a photo. The click was barely audible, and yet, Dib saw Zim’s antennae lurch upward, straight as a rod. Then they bent forward and Zim was baring his teeth at him. Dib peered around from behind the camera, sweating.

Zim stared Dib down, still as stone, debating what to do. He could push Dib off the branch, watch him fall and break something. That would at least be entertaining and cathartic at once—and might even break the camera. He could just snatch it. He could also use one of his PAK legs to pierce it. He narrowed his eyes at that thought. He wasn’t too keen on possibly impaling Dib through his head.

“It’s too blown out to see anything,” he says.

He could still see the gears turning both quickly and slowly in Zim’s head. He turned the camera around and started to hit buttons. The photo was blown out, almost white across the board. Dib couldn’t even really make out the shapes in it, much less that he’d captured an alien imitating Cirque Du Soleil. The photo was wiped from the memory card and Dib held the camera up for Zim to see it better.

“There. Gone. Better?” Dib asks. Zim’s shoulders seem to relax some and he puckers his lip a bit, but he still doesn’t say anything. Dib raises an eyebrow at him. He usually threw a punch, or at least screamed, when Dib had managed to get photos of him before. The unusual pause in action had Dib more worried than the thought that he might break a few ribs if Zim had thrown a punch at him from this height.

“Better?” Dib asks again, his tone more impatient than before.

Zim nodded. His antennae started to fall backward again as his shoulders visibly started to relax. He snatched the camera away from Dib and looked through the photos himself just to be sure. He spotted a few of deer, some of a raccoon, and several of Gir. Zim flipped it around, questions littering his face. It was almost comical, and by some blessing Dib managed to keep from laughing.

“He was trying to make friends with the neighbor’s dog. This camera functions as a motion detector when you set it to,” Dib explains. Zim handed it back and watched Dib attach the camera to the tree. Dib balanced himself on the stand again and sighed. He’d be waiting until dusk, most likely. He could manage that with company, at least.

The remainder of their time was spent with Dib telling Zim more than once that he had to be quiet or he’d scare Bigfoot off, and Zim reminding Dib that he would hear Bigfoot before Bigfoot would hear them. Dib was skeptical until he remembered Zim could distinguish his heartbeat. With that in mind, he was more inclined to believe it. How Zim would know it was Bigfoot approaching was another issue entirely.

Zim turned his attention, at some point, to watching whatever animals happened to pas them while they were in the tree. A few deer, some birds, and mostly squirrels. Zim hated the squirrels the most. They loved to clamor into the loading bay of the Voot and chew on the wires—much to his dismay—and Gir was hardly adept at actually catching them. he’d rather play an impromptu game of tag. He turned to glance at Dib, pausing when he saw that Dib had leaned back on the tree and fallen asleep. Zim slumped a little, sighing. He could fall, at any point, and break more than a few bones.

Zim reached a hand out.

~*~

Dib didn’t like waking up. It meant his naps or his sleep had ended and had to get out of bed. Currently, his back was stiff and his legs were sore—and it took him a moment to remember that he’d fallen asleep in the tree stand. He wasn’t sure how long he had been out for. He just knew that he was the perfect temperature and while the tree wasn’t comfortable, the breeze and the sound of the swaying leaves were. 

He felt something touching him. It brushed hair away from his face and trialed the strands along his head until it could tuck them behind his ear. The same soft touch fixed his glasses a little before just taking them off entirely. Before he knew it, the touch was back and tracing over his lashes. Then, down his nose and resting at the tip a moment. It moved to his jaw, tracing up to his ear again. Dib’s brow involuntarily twitched and he shivered. The touch froze in place. It had been curious before, but now it was cautious. Dib figured the jig was up and exhaled harshly in a huff. The touch disappeared in an instant and Dib cracked his eyes open. The sun was starting to set, giving the sky a nice rainbow color. He flicked his eyes over to Zim.

The Irken was sitting still as a statue, twirling Dib’s glasses in his fingers as he looked away to some random tree. It was the only part of him that was moving. Dib sat up, regretting it as the soreness in his back and neck bloomed through his body. He stretched, garnering Zim’s attention. He held Dib’s glasses out to him.

“You need contacts,” Zim says. Dib stretched, trying to get a stubborn spot out of his neck. He was trying to process the implication of Zim taking his glasses and the touch he’d been feeling. He hadn’t bet on Zim’s touch to be so delicate, especially given how harsh Zim could be with him.

“Or, eye surgery,” Zim adds wickedly. Dib made a swipe for the glasses.  
“No, I like my eyes where they are,” he says. Zim held the glasses out of reach. Zim stared at him a single moment before he tossed the glasses over Dib’s head. Dib gasped, watching them sail out of reach until they hit the ground. He gaped at them a moment before he turned back to Zim.

“What the hell?!” Dib shrieked. 

Zim pouted, kicking his legs a little. He’d done it to piss Dib off; but now he kind of regretted it. He sighed, swinging down off the branch. His PAK legs dug into the nearby trees, slowing his descent. He landed on the ground, pausing as his antennae picked up on a curious sound. He swiftly grabbed the glasses off the bed of moss and his PAK carried him back up to the branches. Dib took his glasses back, inspecting if they were broken. Surprisingly, they weren’t.

Dib had stretched and started reviewing his files when it Zim’s antennae twitched again. Zim had been still as a statue, watching the direction of the trees behind Dib. Dib flicked his eyes up from his files, towards the patch of trees, then back again.

“Wh—”

Zim slapped a hand over Dib’s mouth, a finger over his own. Dib followed his line of sight across the clearing. A hulking figure was pushing through the trees. Dib almost screamed. Almost. Zim kept his hand over Dib’s mouth as he started to vibrate with excitement. It was almost endearing to see Dib so excited. But Zim wasn’t about to let him ruin the experience for himself. He could—it might even be funny to watch—but he wouldn’t. Dib would whine for weeks (Zim had kept track the last time).

The Bigfoot lumbered into the clearing. The lighting was still too high for his night vision camera, but his phone could take a photo in the lighting. He whipped it out, pushing off Zim’s hand, zooming in on Bigfoot to snap a few photos. With them, his objective was accomplished. He had something to send to The Swollen Eyeball! Dib gave a single happy laugh. It was quiet, but it was enough that the Bigfoot turned their direction. Dib lowered his phone, sweating. The Bigfoot spotted them and froze. It watched them carefully. Zim’s hand slowly drifted to Dib’s coat collar. The Bigfoot’s expression turned to a snarl. Dib lowered his phone.

“Um…”

“Dib?”

“I don’t think it wants us here,” Dib says.

He watched the Bigfoot race towards them. Zim watched it approach with some amount of disgust. The Bigfoot stopped under them, raising its fist in time with a roar. It brought it’s fist down on the trunk, shaking the entire tree. Dib rocked, scrambling to catch the tree stand’s sides. Zim’s hand grasped his coat collar and he shoved Dib backward. Dib hit the trunk and turned, wrapping his arms around the trunk in time for the second hit of the Bigfoot’s fist. Dib heard Zim curse something under his breath and then the sound of something scraping a branch. He saw Zim’s hand shoot out and scratch deep grooves into the trunk.

“Zim!”

He whipped his head around. Zim tumbled down the length of the tree, his PAK legs shooting out and scraping down the trunks. They each left deep scores into the trunks until his momentum was slowed enough that he hung above the Bigfoot. Zim gave a sound of disgust at the Bigfoot. It reached out, managing to snag his ankle before he could lift himself out of reach. The catch jerked him back down a little before his PAK legs could raise him up again. Zim grunted, the squeeze on his ankle shooting pain up his leg. It was no doubt broken. His PAK could fix it; if he could just get it out of the beast’s grip.

“Zim?!”

Zim’s PAK produced a fifth leg—smaller than the rest—that shot down and slashed the Bigfoot’s face. The attempt to free himself worked. The Bigfoot let go just enough for Zim to slip his foot out of the boot. The Bigfoot let the boot drop in favor of holding onto its now bleeding face. It stumbled back a little, throwing his other arm out blindly. It barely missed the tree’s trunk. Zim’s PAK carried him up the trees. Dib looked panicked when he finally made it back up. Zim was already growling. Dib knew the growl well. It was the one he usually got when he was about to maim something.

“Are you okay?!” Dib asked. Zim huffed, inspecting his ankle. The skin was bruised, very harshly, but he could feel the bones relocating by the direction of his PAK. It was painful, but he could manage it. “Zim?”

“I am fine,” Zim growls. Dib doubted very much that he was fine.

“I think he’s just trying to defend his territory,” Dib says, gripping the tree harder when it sustained another hit. He could hear the wood splintering below him. Zim glowered down at the beast.

“We will have to rectify that, then,” Zim says. Dib looked at him quizzically before Zim lowered himself down with the PAK legs.

“Wait! Zim?!”

Zim kept descending until he was on the ground. His ankle was, at most, sprained by this point. He could stand on it just fine and his PAK legs could vault him away if need be. He kept them out, dug into the dirt for support, while he sized up the Bigfoot. It was considerably taller than him or Dib. It was at least, if he could guess, about as tall as a standing grizzly bear. It wasn’t nearly as tall as The Tallest; but Zim had to admit the size difference wasn’t something he could laugh about. One PAK leg jutted out, slicing the Bigfoot in the side, drawing a considerable amount of blood.

Zim ducked away when it sent a returning swing of its arm his direction. The swing hit the base of Dibs tree, splintering the battered trunk. Dib could feel the base swaying from the weight of the tree and himself. He quickly put his backpack on. The tree started to tilt. Zim watched it go for a second before he had to dodge another swing. He kept it up, leading the Bigfoot away slowly from Dib’s direction. Another PAK leg shot out, slicking it again in the face, along one eye. The roar it let out was almost deafening. Zim had to hold his antennae against his head to try and muffle the sound. The roar, along with the crashing tree, were almost unbearable.

Dib jumped off his tree stand. He hit a few branches, finally catching himself on one and swinging his legs up as the tree fell past him. He hung there a moment, gauging the distance between his feet and the ground. Zim flanked the Bigfoot around his blind side, giving it a solid kick to the side. He heard at least three ribs break. Zim was satisfied with that being at least revenge for his ankle. The Bigfoot stumbled away, gasping for air, and clutching its side.

Dib glanced back at the two briefly before he started to shimmy towards the trunk of the tree. He hooked his legs around the trunk and slid down. His coat protected his arms from the bark on his way down. He hit the forest floor, feeling pain shoot up from his shin. He held back a curse, testing his leg, only to limp from another shot of pain. He stumbled, using the tree for support. Hands grabbed him around his waist and Dib almost shrieked. Zim lifted him up, carrying him over the ground using the PAK legs.

“You injured yourself, didn’t you?” Zim asks angrily. The PAK started to carry them away, slowly raising them through the branches until they were over the treetops. Dib looked down to see the Bigfoot already trying to give chase. He turned his attention back to Zim.

“It’s not like I meant to!” Dib shouts. “I landed wrong!”

“This is why you’d die if I hadn’t come!”

“Why do you think I asked you, you bug?!”

“Are you dead in the brain?” Zim asks.

Dib ignored the jab. “Slow down a second, I have an idea.”

“You are dead in the brain.”

“Zim.”

Zim groaned, pausing in the treetops. His PAK legs would occasionally readjust to keep their balance as Dib slung his bag over his shoulder enough that he could unzip the side and rummage inside. The Bigfoot paused below them. Zim’s antennae flattened a little.

“Dib.”

“I almost have it.”

Dib felt his hand grasp around the flash grenade. He almost dropped it in his rush to take it out of the bag. The Bigfoot found one of the trees that a PAK leg held onto and started to hit it. The tree was slim, enough so that it splintered within two hits. The tree lurched backward, knocking the PAK leg off balance, and Zim gripped Dib closer until the leg found another perch. Dib pulled the pin, dropping the grenade down towards the Bigfoot.

“Okay, go, go, go, go!”

Zim’s PAK started to carry them almost immediately. Dib covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Zim looked back at the Bigfoot. It knelt down to the flash grenade. Dib had a horrific revelation half a second too late.

“Zim, don’t loo—”

The bang went off. The sound was stunningly loud—louder than a jet engine—and Zim stopped, jerking from the pain to his antennae. He hissed a sound Dib had never heard before. It was broken up by clicks, sounding like something breaking. He almost dropped Dib, the instinct to grab at his antennae and head almost overriding his intent to keep Dib from falling to his death. Dib wrapped his arms around Zim’s waist when Zim jostled him. Zim tried to shake his head out, only earning an incredibly painful headache.

“Zim?”

“What was that infernal device?!” Zim asked angrily. “My eyes—”

“It was a flash grenade.”

“WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT?!”

“For THIS!” Dib shouted. He looked down at the Bigfoot. It was hunched on the ground in pain. It had worked—thankfully, mercifully, it had worked—and he looked back up at Zim. “Hey, put your PAK legs forward about ten feet at a time. The trees are uniform enough you can probably find some holds.”

Zim wasn’t sure that would work. He opened his eyes, his vision still blurry and unsure. He started forward regardless, knowing it was better than risking the Bigfoot knocking them down again before he could get to the Voot. He had to keep his eyes shut most of the time, rubbing at them when he could, trying to navigate based on Dib’s instructions. The PAK legs stumbled, one slicing through the crux of a damaged branch. Dib shrieked as they started to tumble down to the trees. Zim’s PAK legs bent around awkwardly to try and find a hold.

Dib hit branches, flinging his arms out in an attempt to catch himself. He hit a branch, knocking the wind from his chest. He dragged himself over the branch, looking around frantically. He spotted Zim, upside down, rubbing furiously at his eyes and head. The PAK legs occasionally readjusted to keep him suspended. The PAK legs were bent at odd angles. They looked broken, but Dib could see the orb they pivoted on was still holding them all in place well. Dib looked around cautiously for the Bigfoot. He couldn’t see it. He hoped it had given up the chase after the bang.

“Can’t you put those things on autopilot?” Dib screams down at him.

“I’M NOT UNCONSCIOUS, YOU DAMNED WORM, AND I DON’T INTEND TO BE WITH THAT BEAST AFTER US!!” Zim screamed back, scratching at his eyes still. Dib gave him points for correctly using a swear word. He hooked his leg over the branch and pulled himself up.

“Can you move?” Dib asks.

Zim rubbed at his eyes one last time, giving a few experimental blinks. He righted himself, holding up a finger when Dib looked too curious, and strained his hearing for the Bigfoot. He could hear it, stumbling through the trees, but far away. Zim lifted himself up to Dib, pulling him off the branch to carry him. The Voot wasn’t far from them. Zim had made it about halfway there when he could hear the Bigfoot coming in their direction. It wasn’t a perfect angle for them—it was searching for something; but Zim allowed himself to believe it was smart enough not to go for them just in case Dib had had another flash grenade. Zim lowered himself down enough that he could move through the trees at a level with few branches in his way. Once they hit the clearing, he set his palm on a portion of the Voot and Dib could hear the lid opening.

Zim dropped him inside, falling in himself. To see the inside of the Voot appear out of thin air as the lid opened was trippy enough. Dib fell onto his stomach to the floor. He could hear Zim starting the Voot up behind him. It lifted into the sky, starting on its way towards the base. Once it was set on autopilot Zim collapsed beside him, face down, his PAK whirring in time with the Voot’s lid closing.

“Thanks.” Dib breathed.

Zim turned his head and blinked at him, slowly, purposefully. Dib was wondering if he’d broken something in the alien until he finally spoke. “What is the purpose of this ‘thanks’?”

Dib laughed, partially out of nerves; until he realized that Zim wasn’t laughing along with him. “You’re not joking?”

“No, I’m always serious.”

Dib started to laugh again, first out of disbelief, then exasperation, then with the knowledge that Zim WAS serious. He tapered off, giving Zim a look. “It’s… it’s to show gratitude.”

“Gratitude? What for?”

“You helped me, and I appreciated that. So, to show my gratitude I said: ‘thank you’.”

“I know what the purpose is for. But why bother?” Zim questioned. Dib sighed and shook his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before he could continue.

“Ok. Look at it this way. If you don’t learn to say, ‘thank you’, how do you keep any friends you make?” Dib asks incredulously.

“I do not need friends.” Zim says matter-of-factly. He turned over, his PAK propping him up slightly, and debated taking up the pilot’s seat.

“Everyone needs friends.” Dib counters.

“The Ghsolcknor of-”

“I don’t care about the Gloshnor of whatever!”

“It’s pronounced-”

“I DON’T CARE!” Dib shouts, almost bursting into laughter.

Zim was blinking at him again, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. Dib saw his face, the lack of eyebrows making his expression downright hysterical and he burst out laughing yet again. He was full on into a giggle fit at this point. Zim glowered at him, with his antenna lowering down to his skull. He sat up, puling himself into the pilot’s seat. Dib coughed himself into submission, finally, calming down enough that he wasn’t going to fall back into a laughing fit. He sighed contently.

“I do appreciate it,” Dib says. Zim was silent.

He swiveled his chair to look at Dib. Zim knocked his bare foot against Dib’s leg to get his attention. Dib looked down at him. Zim didn’t speak, just pushed Dib’s leg again before turning back around. Dib stared a moment, unsure what that was supposed to mean, before he got up and let his bag slide off his back. He laid out on the cushioned seat with a sigh.

Zim gave him a quick side-eye before turning his attention onto inspecting his own ankle. He had to be sure it had healed properly; or he’d have to rebreak it for a proper set. He grimaced, finding some of the bones had not set properly. He’d deal with that later. He glanced over to see Dib was already relaxing into the loveseat.

Zim found the action odd regardless, as Dib was in a small space with his nemesis and this was about the half a dozenth time that he’d left himself in such a vulnerable situation around Zim. It was bad enough when he just invaded the base without a proper plan. This was much worse. Zim doubted Dib was unaware of the fact; and yet, he felt safe enough to relax, or Tallest forbid sleep, on the Voot. His lack of self-preservation was almost concerning.

Zim paused a moment. He hadn’t tossed Dib to his death after he knocked him out. Zim supposed, that perhaps, that may be a reason for the lax attitude. The very presence of a lax attitude annoyed him on some level. Humans were all at once all too aware and unaware of their own mortality.

Zim looked at Dib with a sideways glance. Dib had taken his glasses off, setting them to hang off his shirt collar. Zim waited, patiently, until Dib’s breathing had leveled out. He turned to see him finally asleep. Zim swiveled the pilot’s seat so he could lean closer. He plucked the glasses from Dib’s collar, undoing their fold so he could twirl them again. Dib twitched, cracked an eye open to see Zim toying with his glasses, and then closed them again with a breathy chuckle.

“Just don’t break them,” he says. Zim hummed in response. The glasses were fragile, but not that fragile. Zim looked at him gain.

Dib was fragile. He, admittedly, was stronger than Zim ever gave him credit for. But, humans were inherently more fragile than Irkens. The mere existence of the glasses were proof enough to Zim of that. The fact Dib needed them just to see was both fascinating and worrying. Zim turned them over thoughtfully. He couldn’t pinpoint when his hatred for Dib had started to wane. Typically, Invaders succeeded in destroying any opposition posed to them within a short time frame. Zim not only failed to do that, but he had found he didn’t want to after a few years. The little dance the two played with each other had been too fun. Dib presented a real challenge. Even as Zim had grown more competent in his schemes he still fought with him rather than kill him—it was fun and he had no one else to fight with who could come to par with Dib except perhaps Gaz, and he wasn’t risking that she wouldn’t bring a water balloon if he ever offered they spar—but Zim had given up truly maiming Dib a long time ago. Not that Dib knew that. Zim had been careful not to let Dib realize the shift. Some silent inclinations of a sliced artery here, a particularly harsh punch or kick there, and the illusion stayed strong.

Zim leaned back in the pilot’s seat. His thoughts drifted towards the previous week. He stopped twirling the glasses and let his arm hang over the side of the chair. He didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to think about anything but that. His PAK kicked in with a soft whir and Zim grimaced. His ankle still hurt.


	4. Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing this chapter! Chapter 5 hopefully won't be too far behind; but we'll see! I'm visiting family soon so we'll see how much time I have to write!
> 
> Enjoy!

Dib sighed, staring down at his phone. The screen was cracked beyond repair. He blamed the damage on his faceplant into the tree branches. He’d lost a few things when the Bigfoot hit the tree. He still wasn’t sure he was ever getting the tree stand back. He dropped it on his bed, resigning to replace it later. He’d been lucky that the sim card was salvageable. For now, he had a plan to set in motion. He poked his head out of his room and looked down the stairs where Gaz was at the couch.

Gaz grimaced down at her Game Slave as her character bit the Big One yet again. She sighed heavily, restarting the level once more. She refused to be beat by it. She was oblivious when Dib stalked down the stairs, his gear pack already over his shoulder. He stopped behind her, watching her die in the boss fight again. Gaz paused, the death screen taunting her for a few moments before she started to shake. Dib feared she’d break the Game Slave for once and spoke up.

“Hey, Gaz—”

“No.”

Dib stood there for a moment. “I didn’t even ask yet.”

“No.”

Dib groaned, tilting his head up before he tried one last time. “Please hear me out? I need help.”

“Go ask Zim, I’m busy.”

“You’re playing your game, you’re not busy.” Dib mumbles. Gaz paused the boss fight, glaring at him over her shoulder. Dib held his hands up. “It’s interesting, I promise.”

“No. Leave me alone before I hurt you,” Gaz says. She died again. Gaz stared at the screen for a long time. Dib stared with her.

“So, do you wanna—”

“DIB—”

“C’MON, PLEASE!”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Gaz shouts, whirling around and giving him a good punch to the arm. Dib grunted and held it. It didn’t hurt nearly as bad as some of Zim’s punches could be. He rubbed at the sore spot.

“Don’t be such a jerk!” Dib says. He spoke his next sentence hastily, knowing that if he didn’t, Gaz would just check out of the conversation entirely and he needed her focus to get an answer. “I need help watching Zim, and not in a spying kind of way, I’m actually worried about him.”

“You?” Gaz asks incredulously. “Worried about him? For what?”

“Look, he’s been acting really weird. He isn’t leaving his guard gnomes on, he hasn’t left his base in over a week, his door has been unlocked recently—exceptwhenitcomestoharrassingmewithit—and he’s… just… really not all there? I don’t know what happened, but it’s got me on edge.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy about this? Maybe he’ll finally leave,” Gaz says. She turned back around harshly. She didn’t expect Dib’s face to fall a little at the notion, though, and turned back around to him curiously. She raised an eyebrow at him. “What, you don’t like the sound of that? You dead in the brain, or something? That should be a good thing.”

Dib knew, deep down, that was what his goal had been for a long time. Finding a way to beat Zim was all that had mattered. Until about a week ago when he saw Zim looking utterly defeated, with a destroyed base, and he wasn’t sure how to handle that. Dib knew he didn’t want Zim to leave. He wanted Zim back to normal. Normal with a less murderous edge, if possible. But to do that he needed to know why, and Zim had been less than forthcoming. And that was being nice about it.

“I just… need you there for a few hours. Please. I’ll buy you whatever game thing you want, regardless of price,” Dib begins. Gaz stared to perk up to the idea already and Dib held out his finger. “On the condition I don’t have to buy some new console or piece of equipment. I’m not financing some crazy VR set up so you can play a shoot-em-up.”

Gaz deflated a little with a groan. “FINE, that’s fair, I guess. I’ll come along.”

Dib blinked. He’d expected to have had to bribe her more. He had budgeted his bank account just minutes ago under the anticipation that’s what he’d have to do. “Wait, really?”

“Do you want me to change my mind?” Gaz threatened.

“No!” Dib threw his hands up. “Not at all, I’m ready when you are!”

Gaz eyed hm suspiciously the entire time she slipped her shoes on. She paused at the door. “Do I need to bring anything to bludgeon anything with?”

“Um, no. You should be fine.”

Gaz sauntered over to the coat closet. She pulled out her bat and waltzed out the door to Dib’s truck. Dib caught up to her after locking the door. Gaz looked at the tarp over the window and turned to him curiously.

“It’s…. just don’t ask,” Dib sighs.

“Zim?” Gaz asks. Dib shook his head, turning a little harshly around the corner.

“Gir.”

“..But?”

Dib sighed, rubbing at his temples at a stop sign. He was almost at Zim’s base at this point. He almost wished Gaz was less attuned to his own mannerisms. Especially when it came to Zim. It wasn’t as if the two were overly sharing in any aspect of their lives—one never knew what made a weakness until it was exploited, after all—but those late nights on a rooftop had given Dib the opportunity to experience more of Zim’s behaviors and he’d learned how to pick out when Zim was lying. Gaz had learned over years of being his sister. Dib stopped at the edge of Zim’s lawn.

“But he was in here. It was raining, okay? I was going to give him a ride home and then Gir did that,” Dib says. Gaz flicked her gaze to it again.

“Yeah, ok.”

She climbed out of the truck, stopping on the sidewalk for him. Dib ran around the truck and stuck his toe into the property line. As he expected, the gnomes did nothing. Gaz looked them over. She pushed Dib aside and kicked at one. Dib’s anxiety spiked a moment when she did. She looked back at him, pausing to stare disappointed at his hunched over form as if he were waiting for an explosion before she kicked it again.

“Are they broken?” she asks. Dib straightened up, trying to brush himself off and seem more dignified.

“No. Like I said they’ve been like that at least all weekend. I think he just turned them off. This is just one part of the ‘he’s being weird’ bandwagon you find yourself on,” Dib sighs. Gaz blinked a few times and looked him in the eyes.

“Ok, I admit, that’s weird for him.” She says. She quickly adds, “Not for me, but that they aren’t shooting you is weird.”

“What?”

“They never dared shoot me,” Gaz says simply. She waltzed past the gnomes like a woman experienced in the idea she wasn’t going to be blasted to smithereens. Dib was incredibly jealous as he followed behind her.

“That is unfair on so many levels,” he griped. Gaz stuck her tongue out at him, knocking.

“You never said what we’d do,” she says, spying a camera slip out of the walling for a moment before it disappeared again. She watched the door expectantly.

“I was assigned to look at a haunted house. I wanted to bring Zim, but I don’t know if he’ll say yes, and I need you to watch him while I’m busy.”

“Sounds like you just want backup in case he adds your body to the house’s count,” Gaz says. Dib snorted. It wasn’t entirely confident sounding. Gaz cocked a brow at him. She could hear a faint whirring noise from inside.

Zim held the door open a crack, his red eyes glaring daggers at the siblings. “ _What?_ ”

“What yourself, move it,” Gaz says. She made to try and force the door open. Her shoulder hit it instead, the door remaining in place. She glared at Zim through the small opening between door and frame. She thought she could probably poke him in the eye right now. She refrained, instead focusing on her hand, trying to push the door open but it wouldn’t budge. “Hey—”

“Leave.”

“Open the door, bug.”

Zim stared at her a moment. Gaz’s face hit the door as he slammed it shut. Dib gaped, taking a step back. Gaz started to shake. She kicked the door harshly, denting the metal.

“HEY!!” Gaz screamed. The camera popped back up on the outer wall. Gaz eyed it a moment before she sighed heavily, reigning in her anger a moment. “Open the door, or I’ll open it.”

There was a pause. The camera disappeared and Zim cracked the door open again. Dib leaned around Gaz to wave at him. Zim glowered at him.

“You’re dead.” Gaz says, sticking her foot in the door and held it open so Zim couldn’t shut it on her again. Zim didn’t seem to react at all to the threat. That threw Gaz off, a little, with the new lack of care on his end. She was used to Zim making some hasty excuse that doubled as an insult. Or at least a scream. “Are you—”

“Okay, so Zim, I had a question,” Dib cuts in, ducking under Gaz’s arm. Zim turned his attention on Dib instead.

“I told you I do not want your presence here.” Zim says. Dib faltered a little in his confidence. But he’d already bribed Gaz to get her there. He was in it, now.

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to join us on a ghost hunt! Really simple. Just get some evidence and get out type deal. Super easy,” Dib says as he gave Zim and Gaz both a thumbs up. Zim stared at him almost hopelessly. He sighed heavily, opening the door a little more.

Gaz shoved herself inside before Zim could change his mind. She stopped halfway into the living room, having expected Gir to come crashing through the ceiling to greet them. She turned to the kitchen, spying GIr on the table. She ignored the steadily rising anger in Zim’s body language as she looked around the room. When she finally feigned noticing, Dib slipped in when he had the chance and Zim slammed the door shut behind them.

“What possible reason do you two have for invading my base?” Zim asks. “Had I not made it clear?”

“You had, and then you cowered in my lap like a kitten,” Dib whispered. Zim stomped on his foot. Dib only just managed to hold back his scream. Gaz feigned ignorance at their bickering, instead moving to grab at Gir. She wondered if he was always this child-like. She picked Gir up.

“Do not compare an almighty Irken to a kitten!”

Gaz turned to them quizzically, holding Gir up like a doll she was inspecting. “What?”

“What?” Dib parroted. Gaz stared him down a moment before ignoring them. Dib turned to Zim, who looked rightfully angry, and he smiled meekly at him. “Sorry?”

“Get out.”

“Okay, don’t be so hasty,” Dib starts.

“Mary!”

Gir tackled Dib by the head, knocking him right on the floor. Gaz smirked. She walked up to stand beside Zim to watch Gir wrestling Dib on the floor for a minute until Dib could finally sit up. Gaz flicked her eyes over to Zim, looking him up and down. She had to admit, Dib was right that Zim wasn’t quite himself. She snapped her fingers at him, earning her a low growl as he turned to her.

“You’re on edge.” She says. Zim glared at her, turning back to watching Gir mess with Dib’s face. Dib already looked tired.

“Gir, I saw you, like, yesterday,” Dib says. Gir ignored the logic and tried to climb on his head again. “NO.”

“You get some bad news?” Gaz asks nonchalantly. She watched Zim’s antennae flick closer to the front of his skull. “Calm down, space bug, I don’t wanna be here, either.”

“Then why are you?” Zim asks. “And do not say that you _care_.”

Gaz raised a brow at him. She could hear the underlining spite and venom in his voice; though she wasn’t sure why it was present. She hummed a little. Zim glowered at the noise.

“Well, I don’t care. Dib bribed me.” Gaz confesses. Zim turned away almost immediately at her answer, looking both satisfied and annoyed. Gaz thought, for a moment, she also saw disappointment. “Dib, however.”

“Do not—”

“He can’t help himself and seems to actually give a shit, so stop being a grade A ass and loosen up,” Gaz orders. She set her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it a little. She caught the nervous flick of his antennae at her touch. “And go disguise it up, we’re being dragged on a stupid adventure.”

“Is it in his disgusting truck?” Zim asks.

“Definitely.”

Zim groaned. His PAK provided his wig and contacts regardless. Dib stood up, absolutely beaming but confused.

“Wait, so you’re going to come?!” he asks. He held Gir like a stuffed bear to keep him from wriggling free as easily in his grasp. “How come it took her like two minutes?”

“Because she is an actual threat,” Zim says, pulling his door open. Gaz shot Dib a finger gun at his offended gasp. He mumbled something under his breath and Zim tried to trip him on his way out the door. “Don’t be sore about it.”

“I’ll be sore about what I want,” Dib snapped back. He climbed into the truck, setting Gir on his lap. Gaz held the door open for Zim. He eyed the truck in disgust. Gaz shoved him inside. Zim hissed, taking up the middle seat. Gaz slammed the door shut behind her.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“You two could at least pretend to be a little excited,” Dib grumbles. Gir giggled in his lap, tapping away at the wheel. As long as Gir didn’t try to drive the truck, Dib wasn’t worried about it. Gaz and Zim answered his jab simultaneously.

“No.”

Dib sighed. He could handle two uncooperative ‘partners’ for one day. He had to get this to work somehow. He stopped in front of an old house, one that Zim noted was in an old neighborhood that seemed to be empty. He knew it wasn’t—he could hear the heart beats of several humans in the area—but the street was empty and looked all but abandoned save for the cars in the driveways. Gaz turned to Dib accusingly.

“Are you allowed on this property?”

“It’s public property… now,” Dib says.Zim banged his head on the dashboard. “Stop it.”

“No.”

“Okay, let’s just get inside,” Dib says. He shoved Gir onto Zim and pushed the two out of the truck.

Gaz grabbed her bat from behind the seat and swung it over her shoulder. Zim took a tentative step away from her range. Dib dropped Gir, who immediately clung to Gaz’s leg. Dib came around the front, stopping by Zim to stare at Gaz and Gir. Gaz seemed unperturbed and uncaring about the robot dog clinging to her leg. She blinked at Dib once.

“Right. So, I just need one EVP and then we can go. That sound acceptable to the two of you?” Dib asks snarkily. Gaz nodded, knowing it would annoy him if she answered seriously.

“You will drop me off at my base after this and that is final,” Zim says. Dib could live with that kind of arrangement. So long as he knew that Zim was alive and well for the day he could leave him for the rest of the night.

“Fair enough. Okay, so I wanted to start in the basement…” Dib said, wandering his up the sidewalk as he looked over his backpack’s contents. He almost tripped more than once up the stairs with his focus taken by the backpack. On his third trip Zim caught the back of his jacket and hoisted him up.

“You need to watch your footing,” Zim says sternly.

Dib flushed, pulling out his EMP detector. Gaz checked his shoulder on her way past him to the door. Dib opened his mouth to scold her, only to stop when she harshly kicked the door open in one attempt. Zim gave a small noise of approval. Dib rubbed at his temples.

“Okay… it’s public property, technically, but can you not break it?” Dib asks. Gaz grunted, stepping inside.

“Why is it technically public property?” she asks.

“The Swollen Eyeball bought it because of all the stories about ghosts so that they could investigate it,” Dib says. Zim narrowed his eyes at him.

“You’re lying.” Zim says.

“You’re paranoid.”

“You didn’t deny it.”

“You two better get in here before I make you because I’m not spending all night here,” Gaz threatens. Both boys hurried inside. Dib kicked the door shut behind them.

“Okay, so, can you two do some EMP work for me?” Dib asks. He was met with equally unimpressed stares by both of them.

They’re too alike, Dib thinks. He tossed them each a recorder. Gaz caught hers and Dib could see her contemplate tossing it back before she kept it. Zim caught his and did throw it back at him. Dib wasted no time in tossing it back again.

“Please?” he asks. Zim sighed, turning the recorder over in his palm.

_Excellent._

“To record you just hit this button,” Dib started. Zim held the recorder out of his reach.

“I’m aware of how to use it,” Zim says.

“Oh, alright. You guys take the upstairs, I’ll be downstairs. If you need me, just holler okay?”

“Won’t need to,” Gaz says, already moving to the stairs. Dib felt his eyebrow twitch. Zim shrugged, following her up.

The house itself wasn’t anything to be impressed by, in Zim’s opinion. The Membrane household was far better in size and layout. Even with the rooms devoid of furniture the house felt small. Gaz was toeing doors open and glancing inside before moving onto the next one. Zim thought, idly, that they should be doing what Dib had asked but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to try.

“So, what’s bugging you, bug?” Gaz asks. Zim’s antennae flick irritated under his wig. When she was met with silence she tried again. “C’mon, you can at least scream about it.”

He’d done enough of that already and wasn’t keen on drawing Dib’s attention.

“No. What are you even talking about?” Zim asks. Gaz toed open the last door on the left and found the frame of a bed. She waltzed up to it, temporarily postponing her answer to Zim in favor of kicking one of the legs. The bed frame fell apart almost immediately. Gaz backtracked quickly from the dust.

“Ugh. Well, you’re agitated. More than usual.”

“I am always like this.” Zim insists. Gaz rolled her eyes at him. He let out a low hissing growl, but she was unperturbed by it. Unlike Dib, she found the odd sound mixture to be something cool, rather than uneasy. She swung around to him.

“Give it a rest. You’re not that subtle. Or, do you just not care?” Gaz asks. At Zim’s silence she kicks down the last door to find another empty room. It was a sour disappointment. “This house is a major let-down. I should have just told him to screw off.”

“I could have told you that,” Zim says. Gaz tapped the bat on her shoulder, regarding him.

“And how come you’re hiding it?” she asks. Zim gave her a curious look. “What? You’re clearly very pissed about something. And since you haven’t tried to kill Dib—”

_That you know of,_ Zim thought.

“—then it doesn’t have to do with him, so what is it?”

“And I ask again why you’re asking,” Zim says, charging up to her.

To her credit Gaz didn’t waver and glared him down instead. Gaz glowered at him, tapping the bat on her shoulder again. It made Zim uneasy. He was use to Dib at least backing up a step to retain a semblance of space between them should it get physical. Gaz’s refusal to do so gave the impression that she thought she could win in a fight. Zim only partially doubted the validity of that. Gaz raised the recorder up, turning slowly away from him, but giving him a long side-eye as she did.

“If anyone is actually here, say ‘fuck’.”

~*~

Dib sat on the only wooden crate in the entire room. The basement was almost the entire size of the house and largely barren. He bobbed his knee, unsure if he should remain quiet in case he heard screaming or talk so he could actually try and get an EMP. All in all, the reports of the house were unimpressive. It was the consistency that was the draw. Consistent EMP activity with every investigation and sometimes objects moving around or being thrown. Dib figured that may be why the place was mostly empty. More than one Swollen Eyeball Investigator had gotten beamed in the head by something that was having a rough afterlife. Hell, Dib had been beamed in the head more than once.

He raised the recorder, turning it over in his palm. He was more occupied with how well Gaz would be able to wring something out of Zim about his behavior than getting any actual evidence. Dib had, for all intents and purposes, come to the conclusion that if Zim wasn’t going to be forthcoming with him—possibly not until another rooftop stargazing session, or ever—then Gaz might be able to get something. He wasn’t entirely sure what Zim’s opinion of Gaz was. He just knew it wasn’t the same as whatever opinion Zim had on him. He rolled the recorder in his hand again, resting his cheek on his other palm.

He figured he should, at least once, try to get an EMP since that was at least constant. He wasn’t reporting this to anyone—it was really a personal trip. Using the Swollen Eyeball as a cover story was never something Dib considered his best interest; but, given he got actual compensation from successful hunts and investigations he knew it would sway Gaz and Zim just that little bit that he had needed. It hardly worked, but it worked sometimes and that was good enough a strategy for him.

“If anyone is here, can you say something?”

He holds the recorder out, waiting patiently a few moments before pulling it back.

“Did you die in the house?”

He repeated the same actions. He heard a faint voice and beamed. There was no way it hadn’t been caught on the recorder and he was eager to hear it when he got home, but for now he had more questions to ask. He opted to keep them vague enough until he might be able to hear something with his own two ears. If Zim were there, he probably could hear it better.

Dib went on and on, content to wrack his brain with any question that was appropriately vague enough. He asked what their profession had been, how old they were, if they knew they were dead, if they could move on, and most importantly, if they were human. Dib held out that monsters could be ghosts, too. He knew the possibility was there, despite how much others in the Swollen Eyeball brushed his idea off, given a ghost was either a conscious manifestation, or a soul. And no one said monsters were without either—save a few.

“…What year did you die? …What’s your name? …Do you know what year it is?”

~*~

Gaz stomped her foot, shoving her bat in Zim’s face. “Look, lizard-boy, you’re running my idiot brother ragged! Just tell him you’re fine and—”

“He will not listen!” Zim insists, slapping the offending length of wood away. “And you do not believe it, either, apparently!”

“I don’t,” Gaz confirms. “I know rage like an old friend. And you’re full of it.”

“And it is not your business why,” Zim seethes. That comment, whatever it had been that did it, seemed to strike a nerve in Gaz. Zim could see her fighting not to swing the bat at him. He refused to step down, however. He wasn’t about to do that when she hadn’t. He was not going to appear weak in front of her of all people.

“You’re acting weirder than normal. You’re pissed as hell. You’re refusing to discuss it. You’re surprised Dib won’t back down? Really?” Gaz prods. Zim glowers at her, turning his head harshly away and crossing his arms. If she really acted on that whim to strike him, his PAK would defend him just fine. An antennae twitched under his wig and he glanced towards the door. Gaz tapped her bat on the floorboards to regain his attention.

“It’s a haunted house, whatever you heard is normal, I’m sure.” Gaz says plainly.

“Hn.” Zim turned back to her. “I do not have to explain myself to him. That is final.”

“That’s final, but he’s all you’ve got, bug-brain. And you know that.” Gaz says with her own finality. Zim gripped his sleeve harder. “Well? Isn’t he?”

Zim didn’t want to admit it, but she was right. Dib, especially compared to anyone else on the planet that wasn’t in his immediate family, was the only person Zim could even hold a decent conversation with. The reality of that was painful. He knew he didn’t want Dib to know what had happened, if not just so that his opinion of Zim remained as unchanged as possible, and if that meant worrying the boy over something like a lethargic attitude and a destroyed base, then so be it. Zim was also aware that Gaz shared her brother’s overzealous eagerness to get something done when she wanted to. It manifested differently, but it seemed every Membrane had an intensity about them.

“You gonna tell me, then? Since I don’t care like Dib would?” Gaz asks after a few minutes. Zim raised (as well as it could manage under the wig) an antennae at that notion. When he was silent Gaz groaned. A groan that turned into a growl shortly after. She was very quickly losing her patience with him. She ran her hand over one side of her face. “How about a hint?”

“… _Something_ incredibly upsetting happened, yes. I have been… dealing with it.” Zim says. Gaz pauses, making a split between two fingers to glare at him.

“That isn’t a hint. That’s just regurgitating what I already know,” she says. She regarded him closely. Close enough that it put Zim on edge and he gripped his recorder just a little tighter. “Did you get left behind here, or something?”

Zim’s fist clenched and the recorder shattered in palm. Gaz flinched, but didn’t react further than that. Zim could see her body tense, ready for… anything he might do. He hadn’t been prepared for her to guess it right on her first try. He hadn’t been prepared for her to guess at all. He felt the rage building up inside him again and he didn’t like it. He hated it. He hated the reminder. He hated that it was so obvious to her. The reaction had been instantaneous—he hadn’t even realized what he’d done until he felt the blood trickling down his fingers. Gaz’s eyes fell down to the small puddle forming at his foot. The pink-ish blood was bright enough it almost looked like it was glowing.

Zim abruptly turned on his heel and stomped out of the room. Gaz paused a moment, unsure if she should follow, before she briskly walked after him. He was at the bottom of the stairs before she was at the end of the hall. Dib came out from the basement, spotting Zim as he rammed through the front door in the wrong direction. The door didn’t have a chance, its hinges snapping as it splintered against Zim’s shove to open it. It crumpled in large pieces on the front porch as Zim stomped away. Dib caught the broken recorder in his hand and then followed the trail of blood droplets up the steps to where Gaz was trudging down the stairs. She looked solemn.

“What the hell happened?” Dib asks.

“I figured out what pissed him off so much,” Gaz says. She nodded to the blood trail. “And made a mess. I’ll grab a towel from the truck.”

She slipped past Dib. He went the opposite direction back up the stairs until he found the starting point. He could hear Gaz sigh as she started to wipe what she could off the floor. He raced back down the stairs. She threw another towel at him and he got to work at the staircase.

“What happened?” he asks again. Gaz gave a huff of air and wiped harsher at the floor.

“I think he was dumped here. Like trash. He probably just found out,” Gaz says. Dib jerked his head up at her. She met his gaze and sighed, taking a break once she’d reached the stairs. She climbed up to his step and sat down. “I asked if he was left behind here. He broke the recorder, like immediately, and looked like he was ready to die. He ran off.”

“…Is he okay?” Dib asks dumbly. Gaz shot him a look.

“Does he _look_ okay to you?” she asks.

“Okay, dumb question. Should we go get him?”

“No, I’m not going near him right now. Let him burn through whatever he’s feeling first,” Gaz says. She climbed to the second land, getting to work on the blood there as well. “This shit is staining the floor.”

“I’ll bring bleach another time.” Dib sighs.

“Did you know something about this? Why he was acting this way?” Gaz calls down.

“I… I didn’t know concretely anything, but… I knew it wasn’t good,” Dib confesses. Gaz sighed, laying out on the floor.

“I can’t believe you dragged me out here for this,” she says. Dib’s shoulders bristled.

“Well, now you know why I was worried, right?!” Dib shouted. Gaz shot up, glaring at him from the staircase landing.

“I didn’t care! If he left, I wouldn’t care!” she shouts. Dib paused, standing.

“Liar! You would, too!”

“Why would I? If he left you wouldn’t be going to the doctor’s for a broken bone every other month. And I wouldn’t have to put up with his screeching. And you’d be elated because “the Earth is finally safe”, or whatever.” Gaz shoots back. She huffed, pausing just long enough that she ended up cutting Dib off before he could speak. “I mean, it’d be boring. It would be really fucking boring if he left… but, it’s not like I wouldn’t find something else.”

“I thought you didn’t care,” Dib says. Gaz kicked the wall lazily with a huff. She didn’t care. She thought she didn’t care. She couldn’t deny the tinge of concern when she saw Zim’s blood starting to pool on the floorboards. She groaned, sitting up.

“I didn’t.”

“…”Didn’t”?”

“I… look, I don’t want to think about it. We can comfort your boyfriend tomorrow,” Gaz says, waving him off as she started down the hall again.

“Not my boyfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Gaz calls.

“No!”

“…Bi-friend—?”

“Would you knock it off?! I want to go home already!” Dib shouts, rubbing furiously at the blood in the hallway now. Gaz smirked, focusing on the puddle that had been left in the bedroom. It wasn’t coming up easily. It had somewhat congealed. That didn’t make much sense to her, given blood usually didn’t do that, but it was alien blood so she really couldn’t be sure if really was unusual for Irkens.

~*~

Dib rolled out of bed with a groan. He had a mission today and he was going to see it through. He looked up at the recorders on his desk. He hadn’t even bothered to check them when he’d gotten home the prior night. Gaz’s might have something on it; if she’d bothered to ask anything at all. His was likely to have a lot more. He’d have to splice off the end when Zim’s stomping overtook his own question before he sent it in, however. He sniffed his hands. They still smelled of bleach. He had wanted to put off going back until today, but he couldn’t be sure he’d really be safe from getting a trespassing charge if he went in broad daylight and he couldn’t be sure no others would try to investigate the house tonight. Gaz had helped him bleach away anymore blood. It had stained the floor, but it was better than a random Swollen Eyeball member finding alien blood in one of the organization’s properties.

Dib grabbed Gaz’s recorder and flipped it on to play back.

“If anyone is actually here, say ‘fuck’.”

Dib promptly shut it back off with a grimace. Of course, she would ask that first. He could finish hearing it later. He wasn’t in the mood. Dib tossed it back onto the desk and changed. He was going to have to be prepared for the gnomes to be on once he got to the base. He grabbed a handheld mirror from his bathroom. He wasn’t sure if deadly lasers could be refracted; but it was worth a shot.

He left without Gaz. She was still passed out from coming home so late and he didn’t want to risk her stuffed animal security system trying to wake her. He hadn’t risked it for three years, now. He wasn’t sure if they were still even on; but he wasn’t about to try and see. Once he’d made it to the edge of Zim’s lawn he paused. The gnomes were staring straight ahead, as always, all lined up in their neat rows. He set his toe into the lawn’s perimeter. The gnomes didn’t react.

Dib sighed, disappointed but also relieved. He wasn’t getting lasered to death; but that meant his only hope that Zim had any sense of self security at all was if the door was locked. He pushed it open easily. He really had to get a key to lock it himself if Zim wasn’t going to. Dib walked inside, looking around the living room. Gir was on the kitchen table, gorging on a tub of melting ice cream. He turned and caught sight of Dib, waving and getting droplets of melted sugary goodness across the kitchen.

“Mary!!”

“Hey, Gir… where’s Zim? The labs?” Dib asks as casually as he could muster.

“MHM!! He’s reeeeallly mad!” Gir says in a tone that was all too happy. Dib felt sweat start down his back.

“You don’t say…” he mumbles, starting for the elevator. “I-I’m going to see if I can make him less mad.”

“Okay!!”

Dib stated down the elevator, swaying on his heels uncertainly. A small beep hit the elevator microphone. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Computer.”

“Hey, human. Answer my question.”

Dib’s eyebrow twitched. “I’m here to see Zim, obviously.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just wondering,” the Computer says before the elevator stopped and started to rise again.

“H-Hey! C’mon, let me see him!” Dib shouted, banging on the sides of the tube.

The Computer didn’t answer. The elevator stopped on a floor Dib wasn’t sure he’d been on until he stepped out and recognized it from one of his recons of the base. He’d found it had food stores and other supplies, but that was largely it. A few lights started to blink along the floor, going out and coming back on in a flowing pattern down the hall. Dib hesitated a second before following them. It took a few minutes of walking, but eventually they stopped at a door that was ajar.

“Zim?” Dib called. He could hear movement on the other end and Zim bent around the frame to see him. Dib paused before reaching the door. “Um. Hey.”

Zim was silent. He looked Dib up and down and then behind him.

“Gaz is still at home and Gir is upstairs,” Dib says. Zim’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Are you…”

Dib stopped short at the exasperated glare Zim was starting to shoot his direction. Right, dumb question. He tried again.

“Aaare… you feeling better?”

“…I am feeling confused as to why you’re here,” Zim says. Dib could have clocked him in the jaw. He was too stubborn sometimes.

“Because we’re friends and I’m concerned. Firstly, you were bleeding—”

“We are not friends,” Zim cuts in. Dib bristled. He lunged forward, grabbing Zim’s wrist harshly to pull him closer.

“Do not even think for a second that we are not friends,” Dib says. Zim tried to pull away but Dib held on. “If I wasn’t your friend, I wouldn’t have made such an effort to check up on you, I would have taken advantage of your incredibly concerning lack of security, and I would have left you out in the rain. And if you weren’t my friend you wouldn’t have saved me on the Bigfoot hunt. Am I right?”

Zim was silent. He appeared to be studying Dib’s features for something. He gave a half-hearted and experimental tug against Dib’s grip. It wasn’t breaking any time soon unless Zim hurt him. And he could force himself free, if he really wanted to, but he didn’t. He just stared at Dib and Dib glared back at him as he waited for the answer.

“ZIM. Am I right? If we were still really enemies, would we have helped each other?” Dib asks impatiently.

“...No.”

“Then we are not enemies.”

“… …Yes?”

“So, that makes us friends.” Dib concludes.

“I…” Zim shoved Dib’s hand off him. It might leave a bruise; but he found it hard to care. “I do not… understand the concept of a friend. Irkens don’t have friends.”

“Yes, you do. What about Skoodge?”

“What about Skoodge?”

“Well… I don’t know, when you mention him on the rooftop it sounds like you guys are friends,” Dib mumbles. He was suddenly losing confidence in his stance.

“Irkens have comrades. Allies.” Zim clarifies. “…Acquaintances.”

“Is that not just Irken for ‘friend’?” Dib asks. He sounded genuinely confused and Zim almost felt pity for him. Zim shook his head, pinching his brow.

“No…”

“Well… first time for everything. Zim, I am your friend. And I like to think you’re mine.” Dib says. Zim peered at him from behind his hand. “Can we be? Friends?”

“…I… fine.” Zim concedes. He wasn’t prepared for the beaming smile to break out onto Dib’s face. Dib threw his arms open for a hug and Zim shoved him away before he could wrap his arms around him. Dib hit the floor.

“Oof!”

“No.”

“Okay, fair enough. Fair enough.”

Dib brushed himself off. Zim watched him, his PAK picking up on whatever he was rambling about for Zim to review later. Zim looked him over as he dragged him down the hall. He could get used to the idea of a friend. If it was Dib.


	5. With Fighting Intent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a blast writing this chapter, and it's actually shorter than the others. However, I do have to put a change in the tags and content warnings now that we've hit this chapter! Nothing too serious, just the stuff you have to deal with them hunting monsters~
> 
> Enjoy!

Dib dumped the recorder, resigning it to the fate of the trashcan. He couldn’t fix it with most of the parts having been crushed. He was shocked Zim hadn’t thrown it across the street at some point when he’d gone stomping home. Instead, Zim had set it down on a table in the lab he’d been holing up in when Dib had arrived, and seeing the broken and bloodstained piece of ruined technology had been—to put it mildly—equally concerning and confusing. Dib had stared at it a solid ten seconds before Zim handed it back, looking sheepish, and all Dib could think about was which hand had been mangled for a few hours afterward. Both gloves were in impeccable shape and he honestly couldn’t tell which would have been sliced open.

He sat back in his desk chair and picked up a folder marked ‘CONFIDENTIAL’. He skimmed through it, taking out a page to scrutinize it further. The information on his new case was… sparse, to say the least. Missing hikers, very scant witness accounts of something in the forest, and the coroner suspecting an animal mauling with the bodies that had been found. It was all very standard; and the Swollen Eyeball had stuck him with it since it seemed like an easy job.

 _Because animal maulings are always “standard”. Of course._ Dib thought. Truth be told, it very well could be animals doing the maiming, but The Swollen Eyeball was always cautious about sudden maulings spiking in a very limited area.

The actual location was within a day’s drive—and take much less time if they took the Voot—should Zim actually come with him this time. Dib wasn’t sure just how many free passes he got before Zim was back to fighting him fist to fist for the sheer right to ride in the Voot. He just knew he was going to milk this temporary privilege for as long as he possibly could. Self-preservation be damned.

And he had been banned from asking Gaz for any favors until she was past the “haunted house”.

Dib completely ignored that self-preservation instinct when he left his room to go to Zim’s base. He waltzed through the front door, not missing the gnomes turning their bodies to follow him up it, and certainly not missing the sound of the door unlocking just before he reached it. He breathed a sigh of relief at the return of some security. He was shocked to find Zim sitting on the couch. Zim looked up at him, confused, with Gir sat in his lap as he lounged into the cushions. Gir was watching the TV, completely ignoring Dib’s entrance in favor of the cartoon. Dib was fine with that—he could only handle the energy of a hundred six-year-olds at once so many times.

“What are you doing in my base?” Zim asks. He scowled, tacking on the last word with some heavily laced venom and a very pointed tone. “ _Unannounced_.”

“The door was unlocked—”

“COMPUTER!!”

“What.”

“Do not just _let_ anyone inside,” Zim shouts at the ceiling. Dib pursed his lips, rocking awkwardly on his heels. The Computer sighed.

“He’s not an enemy, if I recall…” the Computer drawled. 

Dib was shocked to hear just how smug it sounded. Zim clamped his mouth shut, sinking into the cushion with an inaudible grumble. Dib stopped his rocking, skipping over to the couch with a hopeful smile on his face.

“Hey! So, I need some help with a hunt and I wanted to see if you were interested,” he offered plainly. 

Dib had learned already the direct approach seemed to be working better than anything else. If nothing else changed, it was the fact that Zim took such blatant nonchalant honesty almost as a challenge. And the alien hated to turn down challenges.

“What, pray tell, could you possibly need help with?” Zim asks. He smirked. “Another spooky house? Did the Big Foot demand a rematch?”

“No, and no.” Dib fell back on the couch, finally noticing Zim was resting at a crease with his PAK between the cushions. “How is your ankle, by the way?”

Zim looked blinked at the question. He honestly hadn’t thought Dib had noticed it all that much given how quickly he had passed out once they’d gotten back to the Voot. He turned back to the TV, looking far less like a scowling gremlin in Dib’s opinion. 

“…I reset it when I got back. It’s fine.”

“…And your hand?”

“Yes, that is also fine.”

Dib grimaced at the clipped responses. He didn’t want to push his luck by asking anything further, switching back to the previous topic. “Alright. So, this hunt is in the woods again. It sounds pretty standard, according to the case file.”

Dib offered the file. He waved it a bit when Zim didn’t react. Zim stared at it a moment before snatching it out of his hands. As he skimmed it, he looked more and more confused. He clapped it shut, shoving it back onto Dib’s chest.

“This beast attacks humans and you’re going to try and find it?” Zim asks. “You are not that much of a warrior. Nor are you very good at surviving those encounters.”

“Hey, I managed before.” Dib says. 

Zim looked at him disbelievingly. He could recall all the summers that Dib had been mysteriously absent from their regular battles only to find him at home with a broken limb or other injury. Dib hadn’t wasted any time trying to expand upon every adventure he had when Zim would drag him to the rooftop sometimes after finding him. Despite it being dark and Zim’s threats of planning to throw him off, Dib had never been that concerned. Zim was never sure if it was because Dib knew he wouldn’t really chuck him over the edge or if it was because the boy believed he’d survive the fall. 

Dib whapped him in the face with the file, getting a hiss and a swipe of a clawed hand in his direction for breaking Zim’s train of thought. He leaned away, blocking what he could with the file. Zim glowered at him, a low growl in his chest. Instead of lashing out again like Dib had expected, he just pulled Gir closer and sank further into the couch.

“Do you want to come with me?” Dib asks hopefully. Zim sighed, setting Gir down on the floor as he stood.

“Yes, I suppose so. Otherwise you’ll probably die,” Zim says. Dib snorted. “Or get another broken leg.”

“Okay, okay, no need to call me out like that… just let me get my bag,” Dib says. Zim didn’t respond, already headed towards the Voot.

Dib was quick to snatch the bag from his truck, barely remembering to lock it as he darted back inside. He waved to Gir on his way by, running up the stairs to the Voot. He heard the small feet trailing behind him up the stairs. Dib skipped to the Voot once he reached the attic space. Zim was already inside, messing with the Voot’s controls. A step stool sat in front, clearly meant for him. Dib smirked at it. He wasn’t about to deny some help getting into the Voot, though, if it meant he didn’t have to climb in like a monkey. Zim reached behind Dib, snatching a giggling Gir before the robot could hang off Dib’s bag.

“Gir, NO.”

“But you’re going on an adventure!!” Gir says. He was flailing about in Zim’s hand.

“The last time you tried to come with me when I left the house, you almost caused me burns,” Zim says harshly. 

He tossed Gir out of the Voot. Gir hopped on the ground and then right back into the Voot with the biggest puppy-dog eyes Dib had ever seen. He would never understand how Gir’s body worked. He had accepted that. He looked up expectantly at Zim. Both boys knew the tantrum Gir was close to putting on if Zim didn’t relent on some sort of compromise. Zim sighed, pinching his brow a moment. 

“Fine. You can come. But do NOT cause trouble. If we lose you in the woods, you’re finding your own way home,” Zim orders. Gir immediately cheered, skipping around the Voot.

“YESSIR!!”

Zim grimaced and pulled the windshield shut. Dib took up his space in the spare seating with Gir jumping in his lap. The small robot started kicking his feet and swaying side to side, anticipating the launch.

“Thanks, by the way,” Dib says. Zim only gave a huff as a response. Dib shrugged off his bag, watching the city zip by in seconds after the initial jump start into the sky.

Dib studied Zim working the controls. He couldn’t completely follow what Zim was doing. Sometimes his hands moved too fast for Dib to keep track and sometimes he was swiping through screens laden with Irken. The little amount of Irken Dib had learned over the years wasn’t much help in figuring out what any of it said outside of a few common words like ‘and’. Common enough words that he could figure it out on his own. He leaned back, trying to sketch out letters to study again when he got home. He had a few ‘letters’ figured out with the help of the common words—next it was just a matter of time to fill them in with other words he could quickly scribble out. He had considered, however, if Irken had a different amount of letters to work with that would make it harder. It wasn’t impossible—he had Earth languages as proof of that—but he doubted he’d be able to translate anything very soon.

Dib rummaged in his coat pockets, pulling out a folded piece of paper that he slipped over to Zim, sliding it along the armrest that Zim wasn’t using. Zim caught the motion in the corner of his eye and glanced down at the hand and paper slip. Dib saw the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile for a moment before Zim took the slip and returned his attention to the controls. Once the Voot was good and ready Zim leaned back in his seat with a silent huff. Dib didn’t bother making light conversation. If Zim wanted to talk, he would, and Dib didn’t feel like pressing after Gaz’s attempt had ended so badly. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure how well any attempt at bringing that up would go; he just knew that it was too soon.

Luckily, the flight wasn’t even as long as he thought it would end up being. The Voot had started to cruise and finally slowed into a hover before Dib could even properly nod off. Hardly an hour had passed. Gir started squirming in his arms after about ten minutes and that had helped keep him awake, though only because he knew if he did nod off and let Gir free Zim would have blown a gasket. Once Zim had touched them down in the forest Gir was out of Dib’s hands and slapping the windshield for release.

“GIR. Stop it, I’m getting it!” Zim chastised. Gir jumped out of the Voot in an instant once he could squeeze through the space of the Voot and windshield. He ran around with a squeal, kicking up dirt and moss. He started to roll around in the moss before Dib had even hit the ground.

“You’re not going to let him back in the Voot until he’s clean, are you?” Dib asks.

“Not a chance.” Zim grumbles. Dib heard the Voot cloaking behind them. He pulled out his GPS, setting the coordinates.

“Okay, I can find my way back now if we get separated.”

“Not likely.”

“…I appreciate that,” Dib says with a smile. Zim looked away, kicking Gir away when the robot tried to hug his leg. Dib wasn’t surprised, given how filthy Gir had already become.

“Where are we going?” Zim asks.

“Most of the bodies were found to the North of us,” Dib says, starting off down a deer path that wasn’t far from the clearing. “Rangers suspect bears or wolves, but The Swollen Eyeball doesn’t buy that explanation completely.”

“Do they ever?”

“So, anyway, my job is to confirm or deny the animal maulings as animal maulings,” Dib says quickly. 

Zim’s eye twitched at the blatantly ignoring of his question. He let it slide, already knowing the answer, and leaving it as a small jab at the damned organization that was causing him more and more strife as of late. He doubted that it would end anytime soon, either. He was content simply following Dib around. The boy seemed to know roughly where he was going. Aside from occasionally keeping Dib from tripping and breaking his glasses, Zim was focused on making sure Gir didn’t accidentally push them both down a hill. The robot was having as much trouble moving through the forest as he was having fun.

Gir flew through a few branches, breaking them and scattering them down across Dib’s path. Dib halted, watching him in annoyance as he flew around the tree’s canopies.

“He’s not going to draw attention, is he?” Dib asks.

“We’re out far enough, are we not?”

“Well, hikers can arguably go anywhere, it’s just whether or not you’re going to be getting lost.”

“If they are lost, they can chalk it up to hallucinations. If the beasts out here do not get them first,” Zim says plainly. 

His utter lack of concern for Gir blowing his cover caused a gnawing concern in Dib’s stomach. Dib tried to ignore it. Zim was putting security up at his base again—and really, that was the minimum that Dib had been hoping for—and they were in the middle of nowhere. The risk was debatably much lower.

“You kind of scare me with how lax you are about this lately,” Dib mumbles. He hopped down a sudden incline. Zim stepped off the small cliff—it was half of Dib’s height—with hardly a break in his step. He shrugged when Dib looked back at him for an answer.

“I… find I simply am not that concerned any longer.”

“Is that why you’re not wearing your disguise, either?”

“Do I _need_ it out here?” Zim asks, annoyance seeping into his voice. “There is no one else around, Dib-stink. I would hear them, regardless.”

“Okay, but, do you _have_ it, then?”

“Yes. Stop asking such annoying questions. You’re meant to be investigating.”

“I am,” Dib says loudly. He motioned around them. “It’s just that there’s nothing out of the ordinary. No broken foliage, no scat to poke through or identify, no footprints, no claw marks—”

“I get it!”

“The point is, it’s pretty calm in this area,” Dib says. He dropped down another incline, stumbling and skidding to a halt with a tree’s exposed root. Zim landed next to him, eyeing up the soil. “What?”

“That looks like finger marks,” Zim says calmly. 

Dib’s heart flipped and he looked down at his feet. He saw four lines dragging through the mud disappearing under his boot. He lifted his boot, seeing the distorted markings continue until just before the root, as if the hand had been grasping the root before the owner was dragged away. Dib side stepped, following the drag line down the hill. He could see evidence that the hands had tried grasping onto much of the exposed roots and plants, pulling some plants out as they had been dragged or slid down the hillside. The hill was steep, but it wasn’t so steep Dib believed they’d’ve slid down the entire hillside. He broke through the trees and Zim’s hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him back.

“Hey—”

“Quiet,” Zim whispered. He pointed ahead of them, where the dragging marks continued to the back door of a run-down house.

Dib stared at it, pulling out his map. He traced where they had gone, matching it with the GPS. The house wasn’t marked. He looked back up to it, following the trail in the muddy lawn. The house itself was in a horrid shape. Half the roof was caved in, with moss and vines encompassing most of the exterior. There was no longer any pathway leading up to either the front or back doors—if there had ever been one. It looked like it was old. Older than most of the houses in the city or the surrounding neighborhoods. Dib wouldn’t have been surprised if it was pre-twentieth century. None of the windows had glass. The doors were half rotted. The back porch was falling off, being reclaimed by the dirt underneath. Dib whipped out a notebook from his bag, scribbling out notes before stuffing it back in.

Dib started forward. Zim’s hand had remained planted on his shoulder and he pulled him back. Dib shot him a glare.

“No.”

“Zim, they could be inside.”

“They are most likely dead.”

“If they’re not they could be hiding here for shelter.”

“Dib, look at the ground again. They did not go in willingly. That is not shelter. That is a den,” Zim whispers harshly. “And you want to walk into it willingly?! What is it with humans and facing death?!”

“I—okay, first off, there’s no guarantee that it’s a den. It could have just been used once. It’s falling apart. Secondly—we don’t walk willingly into death.”

“My observations would disagree,” Zim says flatly. He motioned to the house. “That is a death trap. Creature or no creature.”

“Since when do you care so much about whether I die?” Dib shoots back. 

Zim stared at him. Dib couldn’t read his expression, but he could see the smallest hint of anxiety in his features. He started to feel bad just as Zim’s expression morphed back into the soldier like stoic-ness that he’d put on as a mask weeks prior. Dib shook his hand off. 

“If you want me alive, then come with me.”

With that he took off across the lawn. He felt Zim’s hand graze the tail of his jacket, heard the small tear from Zim’s claws just barely missing the end, and kept running. If Zim wanted to drag him back to the woods he’d have to actually get up and chase him. Dib hit the porch without further incident and paused, testing the integrity of the wood. It was stronger near the house’s walls, so he shimmied along the wood until he reached the window. Peering inside, he could see that the house was empty. No furniture was in the room, making it difficult to pinpoint what portion of the house it was. His best guess was a dining room if not the living room. It was large enough to be either. He peered past the arched doorway into what was clearly the kitchen if the cabinetry had anything to say about it.

Dib leaned back on the wall, spotting green and magenta next to him out of his peripheral. Zim’s PAK was slowly lowering him on the back porch with a scowl directed right at Dib. Dib ignored him, pushing open the back door. It swung open with no resistance before clacking softly on the wall inside. He heard Gir farther away in the forest, squealing and crashing through trees. Again.

Without a doubt, Gir was going to destroy the area and have it investigated all over again. Dib pondered if he could fudge his report about what caused the damages.

He slipped inside. Zim side-stepped in after him, catching sight of Gir as he zipped past in the branches. Gir hit a tree and fell to the ground. He whirled his head around, waving at Zim. Zim’s antennae flicked in response. Gir shot up, running back into the trees. Zim caught sight of a deer bounding away. Gir could catch up easily, but it looked like he was gearing up for a game of attempted tag. Zim lost his footing, tugged along by Dib’s hand on his collar. Zim swatted back at Dib’s arm, hearing a satisfying smack.

“Let go! You ape!”

“Hey, hey! I’m not going further in all on my own,” Dib says. He rubbed at his sore arm. He gave a smug smirk in Zim’s direction. “What if I got ambushed?”

Zim’s twitching antennae were enough of a giveaway that Dib knew his last comment had hit the mark. Zim grimaced at him, moving just close enough to be able to grab at Dib if he fell or got snatched, but kept that distance when Dib started moving again.

“You can’t tell me you’re not at least a little interested in scoping this house out,” Dib says. He paused at the stairs, toeing the bottom step. Zim grumbled something, picking Dib up by the arms and using his PAK legs to hoist them to the second landing. Zim set him down, brushing his gloves together.

“I’m more interested how we missed it flying over in the Voot.” Zim confesses. He held his hand up when Dib turned to answer him. “I’m aware the moss and leaves must have acted as camouflage. The area surrounding the house, however, is like an open field. It should have stood out.”

“Stuff blends in when you’re as high as the clouds.”

The concern was still evident in Zim’s face, however, even if the alien was trying to hide it. For Dib, reading Zim’s micro-expressions had become a vital pastime throughout middle school, so even if no one would be able to see it, he could. Dib gave him what he hoped was a reassuring shrug. For all they knew, the angle they’d come in at could have done most of the work hiding the house from their sight.

“Don’t let it bother you, it’s not that big a deal.”

Zim still looked unhappy, but the slight crease in his brow disappeared and his shoulders relaxed. Dib was certain that the alien would never admit to needing the reassurance. Having it still helped, though, Dib could tell.  
He kept walking through the upstairs. The floor had either partially or fully given away in multiple rooms and areas of the halls themselves. Dib wasn’t sure he could pinpoint the age of the house any longer. The longer he and Zim spent in it the more Dib could spy that it had been renovated multiple times. He was beginning to suspect that some of the damage wasn’t just from age or water. A few holes in the walls looked like they were made by a fist—sometimes a rather large one—or there would be impact craters and fracturing door frames from where hinges were broken off.

Dib stopped at the bottom of the stairs after noting all the damages and what could have caused it all. Zim had been graciously silent the entire time, letting Dib come to the realization that the house was likely a den before he decided to finally speak once they were back on the bottom floor.

“Dib—”

“Okay, yes, it could be a den,” Dib conceded. “But, there’s no body, so maybe whoever was dragged—”

“Was already eaten,” Zim offered up. Dib flinched.

“Or, we could be more optimistic…”

“Unlikely.”

“Okay, but—”

Zim smacked a hand over Dib’s mouth. Dib started protesting immediately and Zim shushed him. Dib watched his antennae twitching.

“We’re leaving,” Zim hissed. 

He started dragging Dib back to the door, only to stop in the archway of the dining room at the sound of something jumping through the branches. Before Dib could ask if that was Gir the weight hit the roof and it was _most definitely_ too heavy to be Gir unless the robot had dragged the deer back with him. The option was more likely than Dib wanted to admit, but still far-fetched. Based on Zim’s reaction to pressing them both against the wall as the footsteps made their way around the ceiling, it was definitely not Gir. Dib followed the thumps as they neared the back end of the house. 

Zim pulled him and stopped again, freezing as his antennae started to twitch again and he could see another figure in the trees. Zim cursed something in Irken and pushed Dib back towards the inside of the house near the front. He stopped halfway through the living room, in view of the stairs, as Dib caught the weight of the creature on the roof swinging down and through an open window. Zim wasn’t paying attention solely to that, however. His attention was split between three sources of noise.

The creature on the roof that had just climbed through the window was one. The second was the one coming across languidly through the back yard. The final source came from the front. Three enemies in a surrounding formation and they weren’t even trying. Zim cursed all of Irk for the luck. If he were alone it would be less of an issue.

Dib made it complicated—he could barely keep up with Zim on a good day and given one of the three had jumped from the branches, sticking the boy in a tree was out of the question. Zim glanced up the stairs, hearing the creaking of wood as the creature made its way out of the rooms in the back. Zim spun around looking for anywhere to stash Dib. He could see the lurking form of the creatures on either side using the different kinds of sight that his PAK gifted him. The windows were either rusted shut or full of jagged glass save a few in the upper floor but that was out of the question.

Dib stiffened, finally catching sight of the creature from the front. Zim caught sight of a door in the dark. He pulled Dib over to it, forced it open, and threw them both inside.

The prospect of hiding out in the basement—Zim guessed it was the basement because of the stairs—wasn’t exactly what Zim had been looking forward to when they’d come out. He hadn’t expected any of this if he were honest. The quickly lowering light of the sun leaving them hadn’t helped matters. Zim pulled on a portion of the railing, breaking the wooden beam down until it was just right to jam under the door handle. Zim was caught up in thinking of how best to take out the three unknown creatures when Dib’s hand harshly grabbed his arm. Dib’s nails dug into Zim’s skin and it took everything Zim had not to hiss at him.

He turned sharply, and almost gagged instead. They’d been in the staircase for all but a few seconds and the smell was hitting Zim. He looked down the stairs to where there was… he wasn’t sure what to call it. The mass of clothing, blood, and bone piled in the center of the room looked suspiciously like a nest. A rather large nest with far more bodies than the report had indicated. Some of the corpses were animals, but a good portion was human.

It was taking everything Dib had not to scream. The blood had drained from his face instantly and he leaned against the wall to keep himself upright. Zim hooked his arm under Dib’s elbow, keeping him up. He could hear the first creature who had come in from the second floor as he moved through the first and into the kitchen area. The one from the back had stopped on the porch. The final creature, who had most likely come in from the front window since Zim didn’t hear the door and smelled a small, fresh addition of blood in the air, had frozen in place.

The body moved closer to the door and Zim clamped a hand over Dib’s mouth. Dib had already covered his mouth himself, but Zim was being thorough. He sent a call to Gir. Hopefully, the robot hadn’t wandered far, and the signal reached him quickly. The creature paused outside the door, sniffing at the wood. Zim could hear its breath hitch and then it started to take in a deeper breath. Just as it seemed it was about to make its call, Zim heard Gir crashing through the branches. He could time it.

The PAK’s leg shot out, piercing the door and colliding with something on the other side just as Gir landed on the back porch with a large crashing thud. The body on the other side went slack. Zim could hear Gir as he cheerfully, and ignorantly, greeted the other two. It hardly mattered, even if it would have been nice, that Gir wasn’t immediately attacking the creatures. Zim wasn’t in sight and hadn’t given an order yet.

Zim hefted Dib up and pushed open the door, retracting the PAK leg once he had opened it enough to step out and he heard the body hit the floor. It sounded heavy and large. Zim dashed for the front door, not bothering to look. Dib did, peering back as the basement door swung shut and he couldn’t believe his eyes. A Big Foot he would have guessed. A _Wendigo_ was not something he thought he’d ever see.

The reports of Wendigo had been sparse for decades. Dib had been certain, along with the other members of The Swollen Eyeball, that they’d died out at some point during the settlement of the US. Guns did that to creatures. He also hadn’t anticipated how grotesque one looked up close. Well, as up close as one could get when they were being bodily dragged away by a spooked alien.

The body was falling apart—the skin lax around the muscles in a way that really made the descriptor ‘like a corpse’ make so much more sense now--. The body was covered in patches of hair and if it weren’t for the deer-skull head (complete with a broken set of antlers) and hooves on the hind legs, Dib could have mistaken the silhouette for a lycan. It certainly looked like it was tall enough. The two he could see out the back in the dining room, curiously inspecting Gir, were easily seven feet tall if not more. The claws that accompanied the hands were something that Dib did not want to be acquainted with. Being beaten to death by a Big Foot would have been painful enough. Being shredded to ribbons sounded just as horrible a way to die.

Zim checked that they were sufficiently distracted before he tried to pull open the front door. The creak of the wood was loud enough that Zim abandoned the door entirely on the first attempt to pull it. Dib lost his footing in the backwards scramble that was Zim pulling him away from the door. His boot was barely caught by the large clawed and mangled hand crashing into the door. The wood splintered on impact, sending chips flying in all directions. Zim moved Dib behind him, facing Dib down a hallway that was leading to the other half of the main floor that they hadn’t gotten to just yet. Half the rooms didn’t have a door on them. Dib thought that, perhaps, he was fast enough to reach the one of two that still had a door. A quick recall to the shape of the door that was the front door of the house reminded him that might not do much in his favor. A few seconds of time, at best.

No, he was safer if he just did what Zim told him to do and kept by the alien’s side. Speaking of the alien, he was lifting Dib up onto the second landing, out of the way of another lunge from one Wendigo. Dib caught the sight of Gir riding the second one, like some sort of mechanical bull in the dining room, gripping its antlers like reigns. The sounds that the Wendigo was giving off was starting to make Dib’s ears hurt.

“Uh, Zim!”

“Not now,” Zim growled. A PAK leg shot up, arching forward to catch the Wendigo in the eye when it leapt up the height of the second land to latch onto the banister.

“I-I don’t have anything to fight off Wendigos!” Dib shouts.

“What?!”

“I DIDN’T THINK WE’D COME ACROSS ANY!! I WAS PREPARED FOR GHOSTS AND BIG FOOT!!” Dib shrieked back at him.

The Wendigo was screeching, the PAK leg stuck in its socket, and clawed at the metal leg to try and wrench it out. Zim backed them both down the hall. The leg of the PAK extended as they retreated. The leg pushed the Wendigo back down to the first floor, straight off the railing and taking some of the rail with it, and Zim ducked them both into a room. Zim shoved Dib away, examining the PAK leg’s spike and looking over the dark blood that was in the process of tarnishing it.

“Disgusting…” Zim muttered. The leg stayed out, poised behind Zim and ready to last out should something try to come in. Zim turned on Dib. “Why would ghosts be out here?!”

“Hey, there’s a whole forest in Jap—”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT THAT!!” Zim shrieked, getting right in Dib’s face. Dib could hear the hiss under his voice. He tired not to blame Zim for losing his temper—an ambush hadn’t exactly been on the docket for the day.

“YEEEEEEEE!”

A heavy crash followed Gir’s high-pitched squealing. Zim turned his attention back towards the door, his antennae drooping a bit at the spike in noise. Dib jumped to attention himself. The sound of something else crashing down followed in a conga-line style of noise. Zim sighed and pinched his brow. At the rate Gir was going, he was going to cause the whole house to collapse. Dib bit his lip, turning back to Zim.

“Are we going to be able to kill those things?” he asks. Zim looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“…”We”?” he asks, stressing the word heavily. “What ‘we’? You are staying up here until I can dispose of those corpses down below.”

“What? But that’s not fair—”

“Did you not ask me along specifically in case this happened?” Zim asks, gesturing to the door. He had a bend to his hip that Dib recognized as something Gaz did she when was trying to be particularly sassy with him. He wasn’t sure when Zim had picked that mannerism up. Dib shook his head out, flushing a little.

“I didn’t think it’d actually be something you’d have to do…” he mumbled. 

Zim blinked at him a moment. Gir screeched again, in tandem with one of the Wendigo and Zim could just imagine what he was doing. Probably riding one while chasing the other and if he were right, the staircase was probably—the sounds that interrupted his train of thought confirmed that suspicion. Zim wanted to pull at his antennae but he refrained. He wanted to punch Dib across the jaw, but he refrained from that as well. It meant very little if he killed the boy when he was supposed to be making sure that didn’t happen.

Irk, humans were aggravating.

Zim pushed past him to the door, peering down the hall with the PAK leg poised and ready to strike. Dib dug around in his bag. He had to have _something_ that would help. He would take anything. He started to throw items out, disregarding what he couldn’t use. Binoculars, the file folder, a pen, the GPS tracker—he threw that back in—a recorder…

This was his first time investigating a case with a good, old-fashioned Native American monster and he’d already blown it sky high. He wished he was able to enjoy it.

 _Good job, Dib, you finally get a native monster and it’s going to kill you,_ he thinks bitterly. His hand closed around a familiar shape and he sighed in relief.

Zim flicked his gaze down the hall, trying to ignore the noise Dib was making. He slipped into the hall. He crept along the wall until he could see past the railing. The single Wendigo was indeed still being ridden like a bull by Gir. It looked like he was having fun trying to steer the massive beast. The Wendigo was trying to shake Gir off, but whenever it managed to buck Gir off bodily, the little robot would hang on and pull himself back into place. Zim noticed the extra indents in the walling where the Wendigo had been steered. It explained the noise, at least. It’s reluctance to leave the front door’s area, however, was more concerning.

Zim tensed a little, noticing a missing member of the group. He peered further over the side of the railing where the broken pieces were jutting up. He extended his PAK leg first. Nothing happened. He wondered, briefly, if he’d managed to actually kill the other Wendigo with that short of a fall. He doubted it.

The Wendigo trying to fight Gir off spotted him. The only indication of which was it sharply swiveling its head in his direction. The speed that it crossed the living room to jump up to the railing was faster than Zim would have given it credit for given its lumbering movements before. 

“Master!”

“Just stay there, Gir, you’re actually helping!”

Zim jerked back, the claws that the Wendigo haphazardly threw up grazing across his side. The PAK leg shot out next, catching the Wendigo in the jaw. The creature jerked, gurgling in the pain and blood, dragging Zim across the floorboards with the PAK stuck in its jaw. His heels skid across the wood, sending small chips up as he dug his heels into the grain as he tried to stop the pull of the Wendigo. He was sure if it weren’t for the age of the floor, he might have pulled it off. 

Dib stashed everything back inside his bag. He hastily threw it back over his shoulder, pausing at the sound of something landing on the house. Dib froze. He watched as a large shadow started to block out what little moonlight there was streaming through the window. Dib’s body started to move on its own. He ran for the door. Simultaneously he could hear the glass shattering behind him and the flecks in his hair. Fingers wrapped around his ankle and pulled him down. Dib’s jaw hit the floor, sending sparks of pain shooting through his head.

The claws wrapped around jeans dug through them, slicing his skin. Dib turned around, his backpack dragging along the floor. He kicked up, catching the Wendigo in the jaw. The creature was covered in shards of broken glass—the very glass that was catching in and under Dib’s shirt and raking up his back. More of those shards that were caught in the fur fell down over him. Dib kicked again, wrenching his leg free. The claws scored down his shin. Dib bit his tongue to keep from screaming and drawing the attention of the second Wendigo.

He scrambled to his feet, falling more than once onto the glass, before he yanked the pin out of the flash bomb and tossed it back into the room once he hit the hall. The Wendigo shook its head out. It spotted the flash bomb and paused, leaning down to sniff at it. Dib stumbled down the hall, his leg almost giving out below him. He could hardly hear anything but his heart thumping in his ears.

The flash bang went off and Dib stumbled, trying to cover his ears and keep running at the same time. Neither was an easy task at the moment. The bang rang through the house. Zim immediately tried to cover his antennae. The sudden jerk of motion misplaced his balance. Two other PAK legs jutted out and stuck themselves in the floor and wall. Zim glared back at Dib for only a moment. Dib met his eyes and Zim’s body went slack, his antennae drooping further down than Dib had ever seen them droop, and then the Irken’s body was stiffening up and Zim started to snarl. 

Zim watched the Wendigo pulling itself through the doorway. It shook its head, wobbling to the side and smacking against the door frame. It shot a hand towards Dib, the claws catching in the backpack and jacket. Dib frantically wriggled out. He could hear the fabric tearing behind him and relented that he had lost another jacket as well as his bag. Zim snatched him up by his collar, pulling him closer.

“Gir! Attack mode!”

Gir froze for a second, his eyes and other portions of his body turning red, and he saluted. “Yes, sir!”

Zim pulled Dib to the side, across the railing, and yanked the PAK leg from the Wendigo’s jaw. It sliced through, splitting the jaw irregularly, followed by the Wendigo’s screech. Dib would have called it ear-splitting if the bang hadn’t done that already. Dib gagged beside him, turning away to focus on how to get down with the stairs destroyed. Gir’s head slid open. Dib gawked at the array of weapons the sprouted out. Zim tensed a moment and then jumped off the landing, dragging Dib with him.

“NOT TOWARDS US, YOU IDIOT!!” Zim screeched. 

Dib looked over the weaponry from Gir’s head for the few precious seconds that he could. At least two sets of laser guns, one set of blasters, and a set of rocket launchers. Honestly, it shouldn’t have been possible. Logically, it shouldn’t make sense that that many weapons fit in such a small space; but Dib did recall Zim referring to Gir’s head as having a “thermos” function. Given it was alien technology, Dib wasn’t sure he had a right to question it as heavily as he did. 

He didn’t have much time to do so regardless. The impact of landing on the floor rattled him. His heel hit the floor and the pain shot up his leg and through his back. Zim wasted no time in getting them out the door with the PAK legs. Dib was reminded of the chase with the Big Foot and scowled at the house. Zim had lifted him up to carry him easier, resulting in almost a bridal-style carry. Dib was trying to keep his legs bent up so that his shins didn’t rest on Zim’s arm—the pain was great enough that risking cramps was a better alternative—and he really didn’t want to have Zim screaming at him for getting blood on his sleeves.

He looked back over at the house. Gir’s… attack strategy was effectively demolishing the entire house. Dib could see lasers and explosions from the rockets bursting through the walls. Dib wanted—he so wanted—to go back inside and see what Gir was doing and how the Wendigo were faring. He knew the answer already even before Gir flew out of the roof with a happy glee.

“I think he won,” Dib mumbled. His head lulled against Zim’s shoulder and he groaned. 

“Dib?”

“I think I’m losing blood,” Dib says. He mentally smacked himself. No shit, he was losing blood. He’d gotten his leg shredded by the Wendigo’s claws and he just hoped the glass that had grated his back had been all shallow cuts. He could feel the burning on his back every time his shirt shifted, or the wind buffeted his skin. “Wait… that was dumb.”

“Stop talking.”

“But that was dumb—”

“Exactly why you need to sssstop. Talking.”

Dib was grateful he didn’t comment on the snake-speak, or Zim might have dropped him right there. He had never heard Zim do that before. Or, he’d been knocked out shortly thereafter and couldn’t recall. He wouldn’t put it past the alien.

“I think I need to cover my leg,” Dib says, feeling sick. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the uncomfortable carrying Zim was currently doing or blood loss. Or both. He would bet his money on both, if he were honest.

Zim said something to him but he didn’t hear it. He was already in the midst of blacking out. The combination of exhaustion, blood loss, and an adrenaline crash did not agree with one another and his body went slack.

~*~

“Get back here!”

Dib squeezed his eyes, trying to shut them more than they already were. It was a futile effort; but it was a habit he’d picked up in high school when he wanted to sleep in longer. He’d somehow fooled himself into thinking it would actually work at some point. As if the world would pause just five to fifteen more minutes. The screaming he could hear shot that fantasy in the foot.

“GIR, HOLD HER BACK! PROTECT YOUR MASTER!”

“Yes, si—”

Dib heard the sound of crashing metal on something incredibly solid—his brain offered the mental image of a wall; and that felt right—before Gir could even finish his sentence. It wasn’t hard for him to piece together why, but his brain was sluggish, and it never made the full connection.

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, SPACE BUG!”

Something on wheels was pushed across the floor and bits of metal rattled and fell off. The cart—Dib’s brain decided—crashed to the floor seconds later. Dib realized, with disdain, that if someone was going to trash the room he was in he might as well watch so he could dodge if he had to. He started to shift and immediately regretted it as pain shot up his leg. It was burning for a second before dulling out, but that did little to stop the discouragement of doing it again from seeding in his brain. His back wasn’t in nearly as much pain, just some stinging left over from the glass scraping. He sighed, or rather groaned softly, and turned his head to crack his eyes open and see what was happening. 

“YOU HAD ONE FUCKING JOB!!”

To his drugged-induced, belated shock, he could see just fine. He didn’t feel his glasses on his face, spotting them on a nearby table. It was too far to reach on his own so he left them there. He focused instead on the antics in front of him. Mainly, Gir upside down and implanted in the wall, with Gaz chasing Zim around with a bat. Her special bat. With ‘EAT DIRT AND DIE’ crudely written on the wood.

Oh, that was a terrible sign.

“I did my job!” Zim shot back, using his PAK legs to jump over Gaz when she’d cornered him against the wall just as she took a swing. The wood splintered a little but it did little to deter the girl’s rampage. “HE’S ALIVE, FOR IRK’S SAKE! WOULD YOU STOP DESTROYING MY BASE?!”

“Get down here,” Gaz huffed, patting the bat in her palm. “And I might consider it.”

Zim paused, glancing her up and down, keeping himself suspended like a spider with _creepily_ long legs.

“I am not an idiot.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I second that,” Dib called across the room. Both heads shot up in his direction.

He wasn’t sure which of them reached him first. Gaz had, to his dismay, not dropped the bat before she reached him and gave Zim an evil eye threatening a swing to his head if he got closer than her range. Dib sighed, grabbing the head of the bat in his hand and yanking it out of her grasp, taking full advantage of her shock that he would grab it at all. He stuck it under his pillow, propping his back up and aggravating the cuts, but it kept it out of her reach for now. Zim hesitantly ventured closer, finally coming down from the height his PAK had allowed him, to stand closer to the bed.

“Give that back,” Gaz demanded. She went to grab it and Dib caught her wrist. “Dib—”

“At least behave while I’m bedridden,” he begged. Gaz stared at him a moment. She leaned back, crossing her arms.

“Fine.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it. You,” Dib turned to Zim. Zim stiffened when he turned his eyes on him. “Why am I in your base and not a hospital? Why was I even passed out? I couldn’t have lost that much blood.”

“You almost lost your leg!” Gaz shouted. Dib flinched away at the volume. He recovered quickly, grabbing at Gaz’s wrist again when she took the short opportunity to grab at the bat again.

“Stop that,” he ordered.

“This bug calls me up like this is no big deal and expected _me_ to be _grateful_ that you didn’t lose a leg! You shouldn’t have been like this to begin with!” Gaz says, gesturing to him.

“…Why did you just gesture to all of me?”

“Your back looks like you were assaulted by a cheese grater,” Gaz spits. “Don’t even get me started on your leg.”

“His leg is fine,” Zim grumbles, glaring off to the side. Gaz turned slowly to him. Her eye twitched.

“You do not get to say anything after I come here to see _this_ , especially after your little tantrum at the “haunted house”,” Gaz says, laying on the sarcasm with her last words. Dib would never live that down. Zim’s head snapped back to glare at her, his shoulders already bristling.

“You had no right to interrogate me as you did!”

“If you actually talked, I wouldn’t have had to!”

“Lies!”

“You’re callin’ me a liar, bug boy?!”

“YES, I AM!”

“I changed my mind, bring me back to the Wendigos,” Dib groaned. Both smacked him in each arm. “Ow!”

“I am not about to bring you BACK to the very place that did this in the first place. I had already sent Gir to get your bag and I do not plan to have anything of mine returning there again. That includes you,” Zim says, poking Dib in the arm harshly. Gaz watched him, growing more irritated with each poke. 

Dib sighed, resigning to his fate and laying back in his bed. He didn’t even ask why Zim had such a hospital-esque bed in his base in the first place. He probably stole it. Scratch that, Dib knew he stole it, because Zim wouldn’t bother paying for one. If he hadn’t just made it himself, that was. Dib blinked at the ceiling.

“Did you say I’m yours? Like… ‘your human’?” he asks. Zim ignored him, waving his hand in his direction.

“Your bag was destroyed, by the way,” he says. “It was largely unsalvagable.”

“Don’t ignore my question—”

“As was your jacket.”

“Well, I could’ve guessed that—no, do not ignore my question!” Dib says, trying not to laugh.

Gaz hooked her ankle around the legs of a chair she’d knocked down earlier and pulled it close. She righted it, taking her seat and rummaging in her pocket for her Game Slave. Once the two boys started their bantering it could last for hours and she’d be damned if she was going to stand for that long. She tired one last time to reach her bat only for Dib to still grab her wrist. She wrenched her hand free with a huff. Dib was lucky—incredibly lucky—that she wasn’t willing to cause him more harm at the moment. Gaz relaxed in her chair, already feeling the anticipation for the reaction to her next words.

“I’m coming on the next one.”

As she had hoped, both boys cut their back and forth short and turned to her. Dib looked like he was conflicted on whether he should be scared for her own safety or elated that she had actually offered in her lifetime. Zim, in contrast, looked absolutely mortified at the very idea. Exactly what she had been looking for.

“Really?!” Dib asks excitedly. 

“Why?!” Zim shouts over him. Gaz smirked at the Irken, getting an eye twitch from him this time.

“You’re both dead if this happens again,” she says simply. Zim stood straighter, shooting her a glare.

“Fine.”

“You didn’t have a choice, but I appreciate the consideration,” Gaz says. Zim didn’t have time to retort before Dib had swung an arm around him, throwing him off balance.

“I HAVE MY OWN HUNTING GROUP!!!”

“Let me go!”

Gaz returned to her game, dying on the same level she’d been dying on for days now, but she felt less like destroying the nearest piece of furniture this time.


	6. Coming to Terms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is JUST OVER 5K words, and fair warning, there is swearing in this chapter! But also some hurt/comfort~ And I was really expecting this chapter to be longer, for some reason. I went all out with that long first chapter, didn’t I? WELL the next chapter might be a doozy word-count wise, but we’ll see!
> 
> Enjoy!

He woke up with a start. Typically, that was because someone—or some alien—was in his room. Half the year it was because the chill of the open window woke him up. He didn’t feel any kind of chill, so that made a good case that his window was still closed. He cracked an eye open. The blurry numbers on the alarm told him it was almost three in the morning. He groaned, turning back over. He was too tired to deal with Zim and the alien was just going to have to deal with that. 

He was still sore from the Wendigo attacks, despite Zim’s efforts. As good as the Irken was at surgery, Dib’s body was still healing. Whatever medicine Zim had used on him during the operation had worn off within the next day and his eyesight was back to its typical horridness. His leg was sore, but as Gaz had said, not missing. He counted himself lucky with that. The scarring up and down his shin, however, was not something that he liked to look at. It truly appeared as if his leg had been caught in some sort of bladed machine. 

The scars tranced down in irregular stripes, and as he had suspected, the cuts were deep. He’d had to prod Zim incessantly before he’d admit that at least two of the slashes were down to the bone. Not that Dib could tell. He was grateful that his leg had healed so fast—soreness aside.

There was a small shove at his shoulder. Dib grumbled. The push came again, and he swatted at it, his fingers catching metal. Dib took a second to process that and turned his head. Gir’s glowing blue eyes met his. Dib would have screamed and jumped back if he hadn’t already expected a pair of glowing eyes when he’d turned.

“Gir?” he asked sleepily. The grogginess was slowly leaving him. He rubbed at his eyes to speed up the process. Gir was in his doggy disguise. “What is it?”

“Mastah is sad again,” Gir says. 

Really, Dib thought he sounded like a small child. It wasn’t far from how Gir typically acted. Dib tried not to think about how much this felt like a child coming to the bedroom of a parent with their midnight problems, but the tone Gir used was just too similar. Dib grappled for his phone and tried to see if Zim had messaged him. The screen remained black and he groaned. He’d forgotten to plug it in. 

“He’s not doing anything dangerous is he?” Dib asked, snatching up his glasses and phone charger. He could tell he wasn’t going back to sleep. He cracked his back and knuckles. Gir hopped off his bed and started to inch towards the door. Dib snatched up an old pair of pants that didn’t smell too bad and grabbed his jacket.

“No…” Gir trailed. Meaning he wasn’t sure.

Dib slipped on his boots with a yawn. He grabbed his bag and keys and followed Gir downstairs. He saw the front door… with the hole in the bottom like a make-shift doggy door. Scorch marks were along the lines making up the mishappen square. Dib paused at it, staring. He couldn’t quite believe it. Gir crawled through, slipping on the hood of his disguise before he did, as if it was always there. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He detoured to the kitchen to grab a towel and a few push pins. He quickly scribbled out a note and left it on the counter. After affixing the towel to the door, he left and spotted Gir nervously shuffling at the end of the walkway.

“Okay, get in,” he said, motioning to the truck. 

Dib opened the door before Gir could even think of crashing through the driver’s side window this time. 

“Hey.”

Dib jumped, whipping around. Gaz was leaning out her window at him, one eye cracked open.

“Um… hey.”

“Where are you going?” she asks suspiciously. Dib deflated.

“I’m not monster hunting—”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, really!” He dug Gir out of the cab. “See?”

“… Dib, that means nothing to me,” Gaz shot back. Dib had been hoping it would mean something but couldn’t really be mad that it didn’t. Going with Zim still meant going. Given Gir had been present at the last hunt, he should have known better. “Wait there.”

Gaz slammed her window shut. Dib briefly thought of getting in and leaving but he’d have to come back to Gaz’s rage at some point if he did. It was better for his life expectancy if he stayed put. She was down in a matter of minutes. She glanced briefly at the door before just turning away. It was entirely likely she was making the same conclusion that Dib had on her own. She climbed into the cab, snapping at him to get in after her. Once he had started off, Gir was trying to crawl into his lap. Dib let him, knowing it was better to just let Gir figure out how to sit than trying to keep him off.

“Okay, what are we walking into?” Dib asked.

Gir didn’t answer, just kicking his legs in Dib’s lap. Dib rested his face against his fist, propping himself up on the window. He just prepared himself to find Zim dazed out in the back of the labs again. He glanced at Gaz, who was resting her eyes.

~*~

“Scan complete.”

Zim’s antennae twitched. He arched his back for the PAKs replacement. It slipped on easily, the tubes reconnecting to his spine. There was always a small pinch when they did, until the bones resettled around the anchor points. He looked up to the screen, his antennae drooping at the diagnostics scan’s results.

**30% CORRUPTION**

It was not a favorable outcome. He just barely contained the urge to smash the keyboard. He instead pushed off from the desk. He swiped his palm over the screen, closing out the diagnostics. He didn’t need to know what functions weren’t at full capacity. He could feel them. His nutrients weren’t being processed correctly and that was leading to a multitude of problems.

PAK corruption happened in only rare cases. As much as he wanted answers, he had the suspicion he wasn’t going to get any. The thought of calling the Control Brains was quickly squashed. They hadn’t answered before, and they wouldn’t answer now. No one was. He was on his own.

It was a difficult pill to swallow, but one that he was forced to face head on. He had to find a way to make up for the PAKs failings. He could maintenance it. But, that would only do so much. His brain was already firing off ideas of automated farms and parts creations even before he had snatched up the tablet to take notes. He just needed to make a few select machines, some farming space, and access to materials for spare parts. That was all. 

The Computer’s speaker chimed at him three pages in. “Dib is here.”

“What?” Zim looked up disbelievingly.

“Dib is—”

“I heard you, I just…” He took a few seconds to make the connection that Gir had left a while ago and he’d not heard a peep from upstairs. He groaned, running his hand over his head. He did not want to deal with this. “Irk, Gir…”

“They’re at the door.” The Computer said, just before the bell rang throughout the base. Zim sighed heavily, setting the tablet down. His PAK would have stored the ideas away already for him to access later. Mostly he just enjoyed writing things down.

“Tell him to leave. He is not permitted to come here to sleep. He can do that at home.”

“Mmm. Both siblings are here.” The Computer says. Zim rubbed at his eyes, trying to think of ways to get both of them to leave that wouldn’t involve further damage to his base. He could only hope that Gaz didn’t have the blasted bat with her. “Gir let them in.”

“G—For Irk’s sake!” Zim stormed over to the elevator. “Do not let them on the elevator, I’m coming up!”

When Zim came out of the elevator, Dib and Gaz were still in the midst of arguing over why it wasn’t answering their attempts to call it. Zim was surprised Dib hadn’t tried to pry it open like last time. A quick glance to his open bag, and all the contents strewn across the floor, as he passed the floor was enough to tell him why. The idiot hadn’t replaced his grappling hook.

“Why are you here?” Zim asked, stepping off the elevator. Dib jumped. He stood up, looking far happier to see him than Zim would have thought. Gaz just looked annoyed.

“…You look tired,” Dib says.

Zim was beginning to hate that statement. He was well-aware of how tired he looked. He’d been well-aware ever since Dib first refused to leave his base and the continued observation was grating on his nerves. His antennae flicked in agitation. Gaz caught the motion and elbowed Dib harshly.

“ _Ow!_ ”

As much as Gaz agreed, she wasn’t in the mood for a fight. She gave Zim her own once over. He looked paler than he had a few days prior. There were dark circles starting to form under his eyes. She wondered if Irkens got sick. Dib, ever the persistent one, spoke first.

“I just meant… um, are you oka— OW!!” Dib rubbed at his arm again. “What the hell?!”

“Be better at asking him than that, for Christ’s Sake,” Gaz said. She sighed, pinching her brow. “Do you need alien therapy, or something?”

“…. _What?_ ”

“Alien thera—”

“I heard you, it’s just a stupid question!” Zim roared. He pointed accusingly at Dib. “Why is he even here?! Your stupid body requires rest to recover!”

“He was worried about you,” Gaz says. She gestured to Gir. “That little bot woke him up.”

Zim glowered down at Gir. “ _Gir_.”

“Mastah was sad!” Gir whined. 

It was his one and only defense. Zim knew that it was. He didn’t press the matter. Gir would just repeat himself at different octaves if he did. Zim instead took hold of Dib’s shoulders and harshly turned him around, starting to push him back towards the door. Dib tried to dig his heels into the tile. It was a fruitless effort.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!”

“No. Leave my base and go rest at your own! I am too busy to babysit you three!”

“You keep the robot,” Gaz shot back.

“Just leave,” Zim insisted. He made it to the door and Dib threw his limbs out onto the doorframe. Zim crashed into his back. “AUGH! Why are you so insufferable?!”

“Because you won’t hurt me!” Dib declared. Rather boldly, in Zim’s opinion. He leaned over Dib’s shoulder, side-eying him.

“Is that a challenge?” Zim asked. Dib started to sweat.

“UM—”

“You want beat?” Gaz asked. Zim sighed, releasing Dib and moving away on his PAK legs.

“You’re no fun,” he mumbled. 

Gaz walked up to him briskly, yanking him down by his wrist. The glove almost slipped off and Zim hissed at her. The volume and guttural sound caught her off guard long enough for him to wrench his wrist free of her grasp. Gaz blinked up at him, her arm still raised where he’d left it. Zim tried to match her stare, but the confusion present in her face was working irritatingly well to quell his own anger.

“Do not remove the gloves,” he says simply. Gaz’s brain seemed to catch up and she narrowed her eye at him in a glare. She tried to grab for his elbow instead.

Zim tilted on his PAK legs to the side. Gaz’s hand missed by a mile. Dib’s hand caught Zim’s other elbow in its grasp. Zim jerked at the contact, tilting back towards Gaz on reflex to get away. Gaz’s hand shot out and grabbed her intended target. Zim hissed at them again, but with far less malice than before. Gaz was first to pull him along.

“Skewer me, I dare you,” she challenged. 

Zim’s antennae were absolutely vibrating, but he couldn’t bring his PAK legs to do that. Two of them were in the perfect position to do that—but no. Zim was being dragged towards the door now. He dug his heels into the tile this time. Dib and Gaz were still gaining ground, however. The PAK legs that were out all dug into the tile, leaving deep scour marks in their wake. The siblings grunted, pulling on Zim’s arms with all their might. They were making much less headway this time—with Zim only leaving his arms bent to their advantage so as not to risk his gloves sliding off by accident. 

“UGH! Stop being so difficult!” Gaz said, her body at a weirdly acute angle as she tried to pull him along. Dib was going for a different approach, trying to pull Zim’s arm over his shoulder so he could use his feet to push himself forward as opposed to Gaz’s backwards attempt.

“Never!”

“Oh, for—” The Computer cut off and Zim felt the familiar prongs of the base’s mechanically clawed hands at his back. The flexible leg pushed him forward, off balance. Gaz and Dib both lifted him up and charged for the door. His PAK’s legs scrambled to find a foothold for longer than a second with the base’s hand detaching them almost as fast.

“Traitor!!” Zim screeched.

The door to the base slammed shut behind them. The PAK legs retreated back into Zim’s PAK. They were a third of the way through the front walk. Zim’s feet hit the ground and the siblings stopped dead. They lurched forward because of the sudden stop. Zim had to given them some credit to be so bold with his current treatment.

“Just.. get… in the… truck,” Dib grunted. Zim was moving ever so slowly in that very direction and he ever so heavily disagreed with it.

“No.”

“Zim, I’m actually begging you to stand down just once,” Dib pleaded.

“Tempting! But, no.”

“I’m going to kill you both,” Gaz spat. Zim stuck his tongue out at her and Dib snorted. He caught Zim’s action and snorted again.

“Oh, you are definitely sick,” Dib says. Zim stiffened at the notion. So much so, his heels lost their grip, and he was being thrown into the cab of the truck next. He tried to scramble out, only for his first exit to be blocked by Gaz. Turning around to try the second was dashed at the sight of Dib taking the wheel. Zim stared at the boy.

The traitor.

“You’re vile.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Girls, girls, girls, you’re both beautiful,” Gaz said tiredly. 

She was sweating from the effort of trying to kidnap an Irken the way they had attempted to. She should have brought her bat. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. She draped her arm around Zim’s shoulder. The Irken started to prickle instantly. He jumped alongside Gaz when something whacked the window. Gaz turned to find Gir hanging off the window, by his eyes somehow, and looking like a kicked dog. Made only funnier by the fact he was still in his costume. She rolled the window down and Gir climbed in, crying something about not wanting to leave Zim’s side. The bot sandwiched himself between her and Zim on the seat, flopped over Zim’s lap like a child.

Dib started driving and Gaz forced Zim to lean back with her. “Just spend the night at the house. That’s all I ask. Or else Dib will whine, and fret, and never shut up.”

“Hey! I don’t whine!” Dib says. Zim smirked at the notion. Dib looked over at them when they didn’t respond, seeing their smug smirks. “Oh, screw you both, I can make you walk, you know!”

“Perfect,” Zim said immediately. Gaz tightened the hold she had around his shoulders, her arm slipping just slightly higher towards his neck.

“I dare you to try it,” she said lowly. Zim fought a shiver down his spine. 

This woman could not be human.

“Don’t kill each other,” Dib pleaded. “That is literally the opposite of the goal, here.”

“What is your goal?!” Zim asked. He shoved Gaz’s arm off him as Dib pulled into their driveway.

“Firstly, for you to calm down,” Dib ordered. He hopped out of the truck before Zim could slash at him. Gir wrapped his hands around Zim’s neck, hanging off him like a necklace.

“Gir, get off.”

“But Mastah is sad! I don’t want to leave Mastah when Mastah is sad!” Gir whined. Zim groaned, running his hand over his head, raking his antenna back into a non-aggressive placement.

Gaz had made it around the truck and grabbed Zim by his collar. She bodily yanked him from the truck and started to drag him to the door, kick and screaming. Once inside she let him go and Zim shoved her hands away.

“You’re both vile! Vile, vile creatures!” he shouted. 

He’d have hit her, perhaps, if he had the energy in him. He hated to admit it, but Dib was right when he said Zim looked tired. He was tired. Gaz, never one to stand being shoved around even by a deadly alien, it seemed, took Zim’s wrist and pulled him towards the couch wordlessly.

“I have already told you not to take my hand!” Zim shouted at her. Gaz yanked him, hard, until he was on the couch.

“That’s what the gloves are for, aren’t they?” she asked.

“Yes, but—”

“Then I’m not worried about it,” Gaz said simply, falling next to him, Game Slave already in hand. 

Great Irk, _she could not be human_.

It was rare enough of an occurrence for any alien to show no fear in an Irken. It was almost unheard of for any alien to blatantly try rough-housing one—especially with the knowledge of how deadly an Irken could be—partly because the Empire eliminated that species rather quickly. And now, Zim was sitting on a couch, sandwiched between two of them. The Empire would be flabbergasted and appalled, he just knew it.

“You are holding me hostage,” Zim says. Gaz smirked at the thought. She was a menace.

“We’re monitoring you,” she says. Dib looked up at her, pausing in flicking between TV channels. Gaz flicked her gaze to him. “Oh, what? Like you’re subtle about it?”

“Neither of you know the meaning of the word,” Zim ground out.

“Would you move on, already?!” Gaz asked, pausing her game.

“NEVER!!”

“Listen, bug! I don’t beat around the bush like my idiot brother here,” Gaz said, pointing to Dib. He gaped at her, offended. “I don’t pull punches. Deal with it.”

“I refuse.”

“I’ll hit you.”

“I’ll hit back.”

“Okay, no,” Dib pulled Zim away from her, leaning the Irken on his side. Zim kept his glare trained on Gaz, having entered into some staring contest with her. He thought he’d win—he didn’t need to blink nearly as often as humans—but he also wasn’t sure Gaz even _blinked_. “How about we just chill and watch a movie, huh? I can’t fall asleep now, and Gaz looks like she’s going to be settling in her game. So, Zim, what do you want?”

Zim hummed. He’d humor him.

“Cake.”

“C—what?” 

“Cake,” Zim repeated. “It’s rather sweet and delicious. Something strawberry.”

Gaz blinked at him. “You like… you can eat cake?”

“Of course, I can.”

“You don’t want, I don’t know, candy?” Dib offered. Zim pulled away from him, crossing his arms.

“No. Most of your ‘candy’ is bland,” Zim says. The image of something he’d made note of before popped into his head and he flicked an antenna towards the kitchen. “Use that ‘extract’ you have. You have strawberry. I saw it.”

“When did you rifle through the pantry?” Dib asked. Gaz sighed heavily. She pushed off the couch and grabbed Dib’s arm, pulling him up with her. 

“I know a recipe. Just get in here,” she says. Dib bounced on his heels to keep himself upright. Gir settled down into Zim’s lap as they disappeared into the kitchen. Zim spied Gaz’s Game Slave on the table.

“Okay,” Gaz began once they were in the pantry. She flicked on the lights and shut the door. She wasn’t sure it’d do much to block out Zim’s hearing, but the combination of the door and the TV might muffle them at least. Dib looked at her curiously as she grabbed the extract off the shelf.

“Okay….?”

“He is acting weird. Can Irkens get sick?” she asks. Dib grimaced. He started grabbing the ingredients he knew went in most cake recipes as he thought.

“I don’t know. I guess they could. I mean, there’s a virus for every species. There has to be, statistically speaking.”  
Gaz grabbed the flour. “Well, he better have a way to make medicine.”

She left the pantry and heard Gir ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ from the living room. They set everything on the counter. Gaz pulled the recipe from the recipe box and sent Dib back into the pantry for the rest of the ingredients as she took the eggs from the fridge. She set everything out and a thought occurred to her. She stepped back into the living room.

“Are eggs—?” Gaz halted.

Gir was playing on her Game Slave—and surprisingly good at the game—and Zim was gone. Gaz darted back into the kitchen and pulled Dib into the living room.

“Find him!” she shouted. “That bitch ditched us!”

~*~

Dib marched down the street with a scowl. Gaz cared, but she really had to work on showing that care in a better manner than kicking him out into the cold night to find a cranky alien. The care was entirely for that cranky alien, to boot. She’d left Gir to play on her Game Slave given trying to retrieve it caused a tantrum. Gir hadn’t even seemed to notice yet that Zim was gone.

Zim was fast on his feet, faster on his PAK legs, but Dib hoped that Gir’s lack of worry and Zim’s steadily growing exhaustion would tilt the result of finding him in his own favor. He glanced around to the sides of the sidewalk and streets for any signs of the PAK leg tips leaving chips in the concrete. He found them, recognizing them easily after so many years, leading to the same stretch of park forest that he’d tracked Zim to before. Dib slowed his walk as he passed the walling. Deep gouges were stretching from the gate to the wall’s street corner, looking quite familiarly like Zim’s own claw marks. Dib looked the marks over concernedly as he passed by. They were incredibly deep, like the marks in Zim’s labs, and there were several sets running along the wall.

Dib peered through the gate towards the trees. He didn’t see anyone. He entered the forest and flicked the light on his phone on. He was fairly certain Zim wouldn’t kill him. Now. He could see claw marks intermittently on the trees. If Dib hadn’t known what the claw marks were, he’d have thought they might belong to a bear. Following the marks made it easy to find where Zim had slunk off to. When Dib hit the edge of the forest into a clearing, he turned the flashlight off. The clearing wasn’t naturally made—far from it.

It looked like a warzone. Dib made some quick assessments of it. Zim had torn trees out of the ground, broken and splintered trunks, and it looked like he’d used the surrounding foliage and ground as his punching bags. Craters and slashes were in the dirt, some markedly deep, and the trees were in far worse shape. If Dib hadn’t known better, he’d have thought lightning strikes hit a few of the trees with how destroyed they were.

Zim was in the center, hunched over, antennae drooping considerably. Dib caught movement as Zim looked away from the sky and down to the ground. His shoulders started to shake. Dib couldn’t immediately tell if that tremor was from anger of something else, but it wasn’t a good sign regardless. Dib got a sinking feeling, flashing back to when he’d found Zim unresponsive in his lab. He walked onto the field. One of Zim’s antennae flicked his direction, but that was the only motion that Dib got from it.

“Don’t you even have your disguise?” Dib calls out to him when he was halfway.

“…No. I don’t want it,” Zim says lowly. There was a subtle growl to his voice. Another tremor hit his shoulders. “It’s just a lie, like everything else.”

Dib hesitated a moment before he closed the distance and sat down beside him. Zim looked… bad. He looked defeated and empty. It was a shocking contrast, as the last couple of weeks had been, to his usual demeanor. Dib could already feel the atmosphere slipping into the one typical of their “rooftop talks”, and kept his voice at an even, calm level.

“What’s a lie?” he asked. Zim growled again. He held his hands up and waved them around just a little, trying to find the words. He slammed his fists on the ground with a frustrated roar. Dib flinched away, not expecting the sudden reaction.

“Everything!! Everything was a lie! My life was a lie! My status was a lie! This mission was a lie! This entire fucking situation was based on a damned lie!!”

Dib let him scream, despite how much it hurt his ears. He was afraid, the anxiety blossoming in his chest with an urgency—but only because of Zim’s desperation in his voice and the tremor in his shoulders. Dib had a deeply unsettling understanding of what he was witnessing. He wanted to reach a hand to Zim, but Zim was hitting the ground again and Dib wasn’t entirely confident he wouldn’t get an unintentionally broken arm for his efforts.

“Zim—”

“I’m not considered an Invader! I’m nothing to them! I’m just—I’m just—”

“Zim, calm down—”

“I’m better off dead to them, Dib!” Zim shrieked, throwing his arm out to the sky. Dib wasn’t sure if Irken’s cried. He was thinking that they didn’t, or couldn’t, but the look of pain on Zim’s face was enough of a confirmation that he would be. “Defective Irkens aren’t worthy of anything to the Empire.”

“Defe—you’re not defective!” Dib says hurriedly.

“I am,” Zim insisted. “Irkens don’t form alliances for any reason other than to aid the Empire. Irkens don’t have _friends_. Irkens don’t _**fail**_.”

“Zim you’re not defective! That’s not a thing!” Dib pressed. Zim shook his head and a crass laugh escaped him. He sighed heavily, pulling his legs up and burying his face in his knees, his antennae drooping as far as they would go.

“This whole mission was one big joke… just a banishment. Putting up with me for laughs…”

Dib’s hands started to shake. He had to fight to keep his voice even and his teeth from grinding.

“Why would they do that?” he asks. Zim’s antenna flicked his direction. He tilted his head, one scarlet eye cracked open and staring at him.

“Entertainment,” Zim says darkly. “Until they got bored with me. Cut me off.”

Dib was silent. He held his arms to keep his own hands from shaking. Ideas of how to build his own ship or steal Zim’s to get some kind of revenge were already running through his head. He shook his mind clear. None of them would work, likely. One ship against an entire Armada might work in a movie, but he’d be shot out of the sky—well, orbit—before he could get a good deal of damage in.

Dib sat in the silence for a long stretch. Finally, he scooted across the grass until he was arm to arm with Zim. Zim didn’t react in any tangible way at first. After a beat, however, his body started to relax.

“Are… are you okay?” Dib asks tentatively. He turned to look at Zim clearer, despite the alien’s face still being partly obscured by his knees and arms. “Are you going to be okay?”

Zim was silent for a long time. Eventually, he looked up to the tree line, surveying the busted trunks. He could feel his PAK starting to work just a little harder than it had to in order to keep him warm.

“I’ll be fine.”

He could fix this.

~*~

Zim let Dib lead him back to the couch and fell into it. Gir was in his lap immediately. Dib disappeared into the kitchen, shooting one last glance Zim’s way in time to see him lean his head on the back of the couch with a huff. Gir was patting at his cheeks, giving him something of a once over. Gaz raised a brow at him when he came in. Dib opened his mouth to speak and paused, spying the cake on the counter. Gaz raised a brow at him, waiting for him to continue.

Dib opted to not comment on it. He started cutting a slice instead.

“Well?” Gaz asked.

“He’s… I don’t know. Coping, I guess,” Dib says. He set the slice on a plate and stood at the counter, leaning on it. Gaz watched him a moment longer before she left the table. Dib heard her boots on the tile as she came up beside him.

“Coping for what?” she asks.

“You were right,” Dib says. He rested his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. Gaz stared for a moment. She lifted herself onto the counter, kicking her feet slowly.

“I’m not happy about that.”

“Good. Because he isn’t, either,” Dib grumbled.

“He’ll be fine. He’s got you to distract him, after all. Keeping you alive is a full-time job,” Gaz says. Dib smirked, giving her a huff of a laugh.

Dib grabbed the plate off the counter, rifling through the drawers for a fork, and turned on his heel. Gaz hopped down, cutting her own slice before following him to the door. Dib paused in the doorway. She came up to his side and peered around the entrance doorway’s frame. Gir was on the back of the couch, swaying slowly with a low hum. Zim’s head was still on the back of the couch, but his eyes were closed.

“Is he… is he asleep?” Gaz asked.

Dib walked up, setting the cake on the table, and waved his hand in front of Zim’s face. Zim’s antennae flicked once and Gir looked around at Dib.

“No!” he whispered. “You’ll wake Mastah!”

“ _He’s asleep_?” Dib asked. Gir nodded rapidly. Dib leaned away, looking up at Gaz. “I guess he really is staying here tonight.”

Gaz leaned against the frame, her cake slice already half eaten, and hummed. “So, does this mean we have to actually use that guest room?”


	7. New and Old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a space convention in town and Dib is INSISTENT on attending! Rife with ideas and fanatics. Perfect combination.  
> It gives him ideas. P.S. I accidently described Zim’s pupils as red, not his iris’, and wowza isn’t that an image! I might have to draw that. If anyone draws a human Zim with black iris and red pupils LINK IT TO ME CUZ I WANNA SEE!!  
> Enjoy!

Zim furrowed his brow, staring down at the tablet. He had hardly touched it since he had landed so many years prior. Leaving it to sit in a drawer for the last half a decade hadn’t been the smartest thing he’d ever done. Zim had managed to fix quite a few issues with the tablet once he’d found it. He wasn’t concerned about the more customized apps or functions. He’d hardly ever used it, after all. He was searching for specific information, anyway. Finally, hidden away with other apps rarely used post-base-setup, he found it. 

He opened the app, holding the device out and letting a line of light scan him up and down. The light hurt his eyes for a moment, and he grimaced. That was not typical. He ignored it, swiping through the features of the tablet’s scan.

He had… given up on disguises as far as keeping his cover intact. He hadn’t been concerned about it for some time, and as concerning as that apparently was to Dib, he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Putting the wig and the contacts on was a habit. The only other reasoning Zim could give for why he bothered at all was that he didn’t want stopped by anyone when he left the base. Having seen Tak’s obsessive attention to detail was slowly making him rethink the effort he had put into his disguise in the first place.

The level of customization that the tablet would have given him was… impressive. Though, expected, given the purpose of it. Skin color and texture, hair color and style, he could have freckles if he wanted and choose where, he could change the size of those ridiculous noses and ears humans had, he could have piercings—Zim set the tablet down a moment. It was a lot. Full customization wasn’t exactly used often with Irken disguise technology. They were meant to blend in by looking average. As average as possible. If the planet permitted it.

Humans didn’t seem to have an ‘average’ look, so it made sense. Humans were, to give them some evolutionary credit, one of the most varied species he’d seen. Their basic make up was, predictably, common to a degree. The variety within their more individualistic gene pool was the part that was fascinating. Irkens didn’t have much range with their genes. Neither did Vortians or a variety of other alien species. Many followed the same gene pool variety hour that Earth animals seemed to. That was to say, very little visual diversion over half the time.

The monitor to his left beeped, dragging him from his thought process in how far he could really go with the disguise. Zim glowered at the screen.

**37% CORRUPTION**

He sighed heavily. His PAK slid onto his back and hooked into place. Zim grunted, shaking off the uncomfortableness and stepping away from the chair. He quickly wiped the screen clear before he risked forgetting. Dib was coming in just a few minutes.

Zim looked at the paper bag he had on the table. The shop logo was from the local mall. He recognized the label from Dib’s shirts when they would fall off after his PAK legs tore the fabric, but he hadn’t bothered to look inside the bag just yet. Dib had been rather excitedly vague about the whole thing. Zim didn’t consider it a ‘gift’ by any means. In fact, he was suspicious of it. He was suspicious of Dib’s recent behavior. The boy had been… clingy. He’d tried coming to visit every day and stayed for hours. Once at the expense of his own sleep and Zim had to drag the unconscious boy back to his own house. Gaz had just barely contained whatever quip had hit her brain when he’d showed up with Dib draped over his back like he had.

At the least, it had kept Zim’s mind from wandering backwards again.

With that in mind, he turned back to the tablet. He was nearly done with the customize job. Once he had finished, he hit the finalize button and waited. A progress bar started to fill, and a small light blinked at the top of the tablet. A small square piece popped out once the progress bar had completed, the bit hung from the top until Zim plucked it off. He held it behind his head, his PAK taking it in to attach to a secondary arm’s end. Once it had finished, the PAK brought it out, deploying the hologram over him. Zim held his hand up, seeing five fingers instead of the usual three. He could still feel just three fingers, but with a small adjustment period with his mind, he could move the five “fingers” independently rather well.

He eyed the clothing bag and sighed, pulling it close and dumping it out. The hoodie that fell out onto the table was not what he was expecting. Nor was the shirt, the jacket, the pants, the pair of shoes—how much had Dib gotten?

Zim picked up the hoodie first. He admitted it was starting to get unusually cold for the month, but he hadn’t expected Dib to get him a hoodie along with the rest of the outfit for the day. The boy had never cared about it before. Zim chewed his cheek a moment. 

“Computer, what’s the temperature?”

“62.”

“What, does he think I’ll freeze at this temperature?” Zim grumbled. He tossed the hoodie aside for now. He held up the shirt next.

It was a light maroon with black accents at the shoulders and down the sleeves. The color was oddly similar to Zim’s own uniform. Zim’s antennae flicked—it was strange to be in a disguise and not have their movements hindered by a wig—curiously. He held it up, spying the price tag. It was… not cheap. He shrugged, changing into it. He’d started lacing the boots when the Computer chimed in above him.

“Door.”

~*~

Dib rocked on his heels at the door, humming a tune. Once the door opened, he stopped, and paused, looking the boy over.

“Uh …?” Dib said looked past Zim slowly. He went so far as to try and lean to get a better view further into the base. Zim snorted, pulling the door shut as he stepped out. Dib looked at him in confusion, taking a step back when he advanced.

“Dib, you’re an idiot.”

“Wh—Zim?!” Dib closed the distance immediately, looking him over. Zim shoved him away.

“Too close—”  
“You look human!” Dib said excitedly, getting right up in Zim’s face. “Like actually human, not some alien in a wig! I mean you still have the PAK, but you look human!”

Zim felt hot suddenly. He shoved Dib away, turning. “ _Thanks_.” Zim hissed, dragging out the ‘s’. 

He trudged up to the truck, forcing his shoulders to stay level so he wouldn’t hunch his back. Dib ran ahead, walking backward down the sidewalk to look at him better. “You know, I figured Gir finally brought someone home from a club or something. Not like The Computer would let them go anywhere.”

Zim hummed. It was a fair assumption, he supposed. “Still stupid.”

“Shut up. Why didn’t you disguise yourself like this before?” Dib asks. “I probably wouldn’t have pegged you as an alien on day one.”

“Doubtful.” Zim says immediately. He ignored Dib’s offended look. “Irkens know the value of customization.”

He watched Dib until he got into the truck, failing to catch Dib’s gaze only because Dib was still busy studying his new disguise.

“And you’re wearing the clothes I got!” Dib said suddenly when he hopped behind the wheel.

“You would have whined had I not.”

“I wouldn’t have!”

“You would. Why did you get me anything?” Zim asks. He’d been trying to parse that particular detail for hours after Dib had dropped the bag off and fled.

Dib hummed, pulling out of the col-de-sac. He drummed his palms on the steering wheel until Zim started to get annoyed. Zim reached over and forcibly dragged one of his hands off the wheel to stop the rhythm. Dib shook him off and pulled his hand back, drumming his fingers instead. Zim was close to snapping at him before Dib finally spoke. 

“It was kind of Gaz’s idea to do it,” he confessed. “Something human, but feels familiar, she said.”

“…Why does she care?” Zim asks, narrowing his eyes. 

Dib just shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. Zim looked him over for a while before he conceded that Dib wouldn’t say much else unless Zim forced it out of him. And, if he were honest with himself, Zim just didn’t feel up to it. He leaned back in the seat, setting his boots up on the dashboard. Dib reached over to knock his legs off. Zim paused a moment before twisting in the seat to set his feet against Dib instead. A subtle retaliation and it worked to annoy the boy.

“Hey! No, your boots are dirty,” Dib whined.

“My entire being is immaculate. It is your truck that is filthy,” Zim says snidely. Dib stopped at a T-section, turning to him. He hesitated and tilted his head curiously.

“Your eyes are still red. Well, your iris. You have pupils. You have pupils. Wow, that looks _weird_ ,” Dib says. Zim gave him a shove with his heel.

“Stop staring and drive,” Zim orders, readjusting to lean against the door instead and try (and fail) to hide under his collar. He was not in the mood to endure Dib’s curiosity when it was towards his own being. Not today. It felt weird.

“It’s hard not to stare, they’re just so,” Dib made a popping motion with his hands over his own eyes. “ _There_.”

Zim grimaced, wondering if he should have bothered with the eyes after all. Blue coloring would have made them purple again. Alternatively, he had much better odds making someone sound like a lunatic if only his eyes were the object of debate. He kicked himself for not thinking of that in their middle school years. It would have been hilarious to see Dib trying to prove he was alien when just the eyes were his visual evidence. He shrugged, pushing that daydream out of his headspace and coming to a suitable conclusion.

“Contacts. Simple.”

“I mean… I mean, okay, yeah, but… damn it, that’s actually a good excuse,” Dib said, taking a moment at a stop sign to lean over the wheel and pout. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

Zim smirked, setting his legs across Dib’s lap like a pillow.

“See? I’m not incompetent with disguises. I simply lacked the proper equipment,” he says. 

Dib glanced down at Zim’s legs a moment before he lifted the alien’s legs up and threw them back at him. Zim swore something in Irken, almost rolling over until he righted himself. He sat up as the truck started moving again.

“Don’t do that!”

“Don’t use me as a pillow.”

Zim gave him a rather harsh huff and put his feet back on the dashboard. Dib groaned internally; but he didn’t want to start a fight, especially when he was trying to drive. And especially when he was trying to do something nice for the annoying Irken.

“Where are we going?” Zim finally asked. They’d started to move further into the city.

“A space convention,” Dib says, barely able to contain the excitement in his voice. He tried to ignore when Zim slowly turned to stare at him in dumbfounded disbelief.

“A…. _space_ … convention.”

“Yes.”

“… _Space_.”

“Yes, space,” Dib repeated, his patience already starting to wear a little thin.

“Dib, I have a _ship_ —”

“You’re experiencing this whether you want to or—wait! Wait!” Dib reached over, grabbing at Zim’s arm even as he was trying to leave the still mobile truck. Dib pulled him back and the door slammed shut again. “Are you insane?!”

“I’d be fine.”

“That is not the point,” Dib groaned, dragging his hand down his face. Zim looked a little too smug about the whole scene. “ _Please_ go with me? For just for a few hours? To see if you like it?”

Zim grimaced. He sunk lower into the seat and door, his PAK eventually halting his progress. He didn’t want to be in a crowd. He didn’t want to be surrounded by _humans_ when those humans weren’t Dib or Gaz. He certainly didn’t want to deal with the sounds, the smells, or the _germs_. He’d dealt enough with germs during the entire Wendigo fiasco. He felt he’d endured enough. That wasn’t even considering the fact he’d seen space before. Plenty of times for plenty of years. He doubted humans had come across much of anything to change his perspective of it, much less broaden his view of it, or whatever else the purpose of the convention was. But, seeing Dib’s excitement and genuine disappointment at the prospect of Zim ditching him once they hit the convention (and possibly even before), he knew he’d feel worse if he just left. Finally, he sighed, dragging his hands down his face.

“ _Fine_. I’ll give the _space convention_ a shot.”

“ _GREAT_ , because we’re already here!” Dib announced, pulling into a parking lot.

“What?!”

“You spaced out—no pun intended, don’t hit me—and we’ve arrived; simple as that,” Dib says quickly. He parked the truck, flaunting the parking ticket in Zim’s face as proof. The convention hall logo swung back and forth in front of him like a mockery.

Zim momentarily thought about leaving right then and there.

Instead, he left the truck and walked around it to where Dib was jumping out with his wallet in tow. “You’re buying something?” Zim asks.

“Of course. There’s always something I can snag while I’m here,” Dib says. “Where do you think I got the suitcase satellite dish I heard aliens on from?”

“I never even bothered to consider it.”

“…Wow, ok.”

“It was, and is, irrelevant.”

“Hey, it’s not irrelevant! I heard your species planning your invasion, that counts for something!” Dib says. Zim halted in the parking lot, freezing for a moment. He… had never considered that. How many other aliens heard their plans beforehand? The signal the satellite dish had been using must not have been covered by the blockers during broadcasting. Now _that_ was useful.

“I retract my previous statement. It’s not irrelevant,” Zim says. Dib looked proud of himself. Zim walked past him, forcing Dib to start jogging to keep up with him. How the small frame had such a quick pace—Dib wasn’t sure he’d ever find out.

The convention hall itself was packed. Which was still a feat given the size of the location. The convention hall was massive. It was like walking into the large stadiums that Zim had seen on TV when Gir was flipping channels. While the hall lacked the sports field, it had plenty of floor space. Entering the convention center meant entering into an upper level that had a balcony railing to overlook the main floor on the lower level. Zim let Dib pull him into the hall, pushing through the crowd until they hit the railing, and he could actually take a moment to himself. 

He leaned his back against the railing and rubbed at his temples. The noise was hard to tune out. Harder still to adjust his hearing with his PAK acting up—but he managed it. He could tune out most of the chatter and echoes to hear Dib well enough when the boy was talking about the different floor sections. Zim turned to glanced down at the lower level to see everywhere he was talking about.

Entire sections were dedicated to things such as space-centered business endeavors. Questions about how economy would function, how transactions would function, currency, commercial spaces, living spaces, and even sanitation and healthcare services. All things aliens had figured out a long time ago and that Zim knew how to set ground works for—if he could be bothered.

He knew that Dib would eventually try to convince him to do it. Perhaps to prove that he could. He caught Dib glance at him from the corner of his eye. He didn’t flit his eyes towards him, keeping up the ruse that he hadn’t noticed. Dib had been avoiding the topic. Zim could tell. He had grown, unfortunate or not, accustomed to reading the boy’s thoughts and actions. Though it had gotten rather confusing as of late.

Zim tried to read Dib as well as he could previously. Before the forest, before the PAK’s degradation, and before Dib had started to read him better than he could read himself. And yet, he couldn’t seem to pin down what Dib was thinking, more and more often, as of late. It was aggravating beyond a level that Dib had ever managed to reach before—only topped by what Gir could come up with. Zim knew that taking said anger out on Dib would do nothing for him, though.

A rustle caught his antennae’s attention and Zim tilted his head in the opposite direction from Dib. Down on the main floor was a large, very loud group. Humans clamoring past one another to reach a set of booths Zim was convinced he’d subconsciously overlooked in order to keep his sanity intact. Aliens. A whole segment of the convention floor dedicated to aliens. Zim could see theory boards and evidence stands from his vantage point. The group pushed through the crowd towards the section and he groaned, dragging his hands down his face. Dib looked at him curiously before twisting to look down at the floor. He undoubtedly spotted the group quickly, given their excitement. He shot Zim a nervous smile, hesitantly patting his shoulder.

“We can just avoid them,” Dib offers. Zim shrugged his hand off and started towards the stairs. Dib followed him, catching up by shoulder-checking a few fellow patrons. He caught Zim looking down the stairs at the group. He huffed a laugh.

“No humans can stop me from doing what I wish,” Zim says. Dib smiled a little, hopping down the stairs next to him. Zim looked up at him, spying the smile, and narrowing his eyes. “What?”

“Well, that makes me happy to hear,” Dib confessed. “This is a great way to get you out, you know?”

“No.”

Dib faltered a little and gave a nervous laugh. “Oh. Well, uh—”

“I understand, Dib-stink, I was messing with you,” Zim says. 

Dib stopped at the base of the staircase, sputtering out nonsense. Zim took a few steps further before turning to look at him with a smirk. Dib was still trying to figure out how to speak again when a man shoved past him and sent him stumbling forward. He caught himself on Zim’s arm, barely avoiding tripping, as Zim swung around to avoid Dib clashing into anyone else. He stopped them both at the side of the staircase, out of the way of other people, and Zim dumped him on the ground. Dib scrambled back on his feet and dusted himself off.

“You were joking?” Dib asks. Zim kicked him in the shin. Dib hopped on his good foot. “Ow! Okay, I maybe deserved that, but give me a break, you never joke.”

“I do—”

“—not. You do not,” Dib cut in. 

He jumped away from another kick, Zim’s foot landing a clean hit on the walling of the staircase. The sound was largely drowned out by the crowd, but Dib could still see the damage of the dent in the concrete. Zim stood and stared at the small crater a moment. He stepped in front of it, blocking it from the few prying eyes of passersby. He looked up at Dib.

“I did not intend that.”

“I don’t know if I believe you,” Dib says. He caught the betrayed look starting to flash over Zim’s face and flung his arm around Zim’s shoulders. “I’m joking! I’m joking, relax.”

Zim’s shoulders remained tense, but as Dib guided him around the stairs and towards one of the scientifically specified sections, the tension started to ebb away. Dib stopped them in front of a booth that piqued his interest. Zim roamed his eyes over it briefly, noting that it was about the advancements of rockets, before letting his eyes wander again. Dib seemed mystified by it. Zim couldn’t help but think about all the ways he could improve them to be Irken standard. Humans hadn’t even figured out gravity control yet.

Zim let Dib get his energy out on the stand as he looked past it to the rest of the building. From what he could see—he wished he could pop up onto his PAKs legs to see further; but this was not an alien venue—there were some stands that grabbed his interest. Only a few, but he would take what he could get. Dib held up a pamphlet to him.

“Look, it lists all the current models by country.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Comparisons?”

Zim hummed, his antennae flicking invisibly as he scanned the pamphlet. It had specs about each model listed beside them. Not everything—Zim knew it just couldn’t be everything—but it had the biggest features and he could glean enough from that alone that humans had made some leaps and bounds despite their lag behind the rest of the galaxy. Still, they were doing better than some aliens who hadn’t even reached their moons. Zim folded the pamphlet up and pocketed it just in time for Dib to start dragging him to another stand. Zim could hear Dib excitedly talking about something, but he wasn’t focused. Without any idea of what was happening, Zim found he couldn’t focus at all. Typically, when he spaced out like this, Gir would snap him out of it with some loud crash or barreling into him. He had usually been in his base when these spells hit. His PAK was picking up a mountain of conversations and trying to catalog them all, as opposed to the background hum of the base. It typically didn’t—most PAKs would drown out conversations that didn’t have key words in them to save on memory space and keep the Irken focused.

Zim snapped back to the present faster than he was prepared for when Dib pulled him into a one-armed side hug, showing him another stand’s diagram of human anatomy that was… inaccurate. Dib was talking, something he could barely understand, and very quickly. Zim took a moment to himself, his PAK catching up to the situation long enough for him to figure out that Dib was talking about the effects of zero gravity on a person long term. Zim came back fully to Dib explaining brittle bone. It sounded horrific, in Zim’s opinion.

“And yet, astronauts exist,” Zim says once he has enough of his faculties back to respond. Dib didn’t seem to notice his moment of listless reaction time.

“Well, it’s alluring. I’d fly in space every day if I could,” Dib admitted. Zim refrained from pointing out the obvious. He looked away, spying a stand further down. He grabbed Dib’s arm, dragging him along the floor. “Um.”

“This one interests me,” Zim says, letting him go to stumble into the table. Dib coughed out an apology to the venders and took a step back to take in the table.

_Farming?_

“You’re into agriculture now?” Dib asks. 

Zim gave him a grunt and a wave of his hand. Dib peered around to see Zim intently studying the graphs and pamphlets at the table. Zim started to stuff multiple pamphlets into his pockets, folding them to fit. Dib roved over the stand’s information, shuffling to the side as others came up to it, and Zim hardly noticed being gently pushed aside as he inspected a flyer. Dib could see some interesting science at play.

“Reduced atmospheric pressure, huh?” Dib mumbles. He flipped the pamphlet over. “I hadn’t even thought of air mass in supply runs.”

“What does that matter?” Zim asks. Dib could tell he wasn’t totally paying attention. He was lucky if he was paying half attention to him, but the PAK would pick up what was left. 

“Even air has mass, and that affects the ease of lift off,” Dib says. He read the pamphlet over and hummed. “The atmospheric pressure would be different on other planets, too. We’d have to know how to grow plants on them, you know?”

“That last part isn’t obvious?” Zim asks, folding another pamphlet. By Dib’s count, he’d taken four of the six now.

“No concrete…” Zim murmurs.

“What?”

“As a base flooring. No concrete,” Zim repeats. He handed one of the flyers over to him and Dib looked it over. Near the bottom was a diagram illustrating the cons of it as a material. The rest of the flyer was illustrating other alternatives.

“Brick?”

“Helps humidity.”

“How much of this have you rea—is that the last pamphlet already?!”

Zim glanced up at him, looking far too innocent in Dib’s opinion, and smirked. “Photographic memory with the PAK.”

“You bastard.”

Zim chuckled, returning to the pamphlets, taking more time to look over one detailing greenhouse sizing. Dib leaned against the table. Zim looked happy. He couldn’t help but smile himself. If nothing else, he was succeeding in distracting Zim from the alien’s own present. Zim looked up at him and elbowed his arm.

“You’re smiling like an idiot.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Learn.”

Dib snorted, hooking his arm in Zim’s and pulling him from the stand. Zim snatched one last flyer before being pulled away entirely.

“Were you aware humans were contemplating synthesizing your own soil to use on other planets?” Zim asks, waving the flyer in Dib’s face. Dib snatched it, looking it over.

“No. But I don’t think it’d be very sustainable, anyway. Might be easier on some to just use their own soil and engineer plants to use on them.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Zim says, snatching the flyer back. Dib raised a bow at him.

“For what?”

“None of your beexwax.”

“It’s beeswax.”

“I don’t care,” Zim says smugly. Dib sighed, releasing Zim’s arm. “It’s an interesting idea.”

Irken food was traditionally grown in a lab or on entire planets. Zim figured one floor of the base would likely be enough to feed him. He’d have to lay out a grid to section off the crops. He had, perhaps, one unused floor large enough.

A loud voice was taking him out of his thought process. Dib grabbed him back again just as someone ran up to them in Zim’s peripheral. Zim glanced up and froze. A rather large woman, a familiar woman, had run to them and blocked their path. Zim blinked up at her. He still remembered her weight—and flipping her over his shoulder into the park grass.

“Oh—”

“It’s you!”

“ _Shit_.”

Dib took a second to let himself be shocked that Zim even knew a human swear before the woman was talking again.

“You’ve returned! We’ve been waiting all this time—”

“Who are you?” Dib asks.

“Trudy—”

“You’re mistaken,” Zim cuts her off. He started dragging Dib away, but Trudy stepped in front of them again. Zim thought of flipping her again. Perhaps landing into the concrete flooring would leave a more permanent mark on her brain.

“I’d know those eyes anywhere,” she says. Zim stiffened. She looked him over. “Just the eyes.”

“Um, ma’am, we’re trying to enjoy the convention,” Dib started. Trudy turned on him, seemingly noticing him for the first time.

“Are you a follower of his?” she asks. Dib blinked at her and snorted, slapping a hand over his mouth when she glared down at him.

“No, I’m a friend—”

“Oh!” She lifted him up, effortlessly, like a child by his arms. “Excellent, they’ll be so happy to meet you!”

“Irk, there’s more of you?” Zim hissed. He kicked her in the shin, hard enough to make an audible sound upon impact and she stumbled. Zim snatched the back of Dib’s shirt and yanked him out of her hands. He wrapped his hands around Dib’s waist and twisting to set him down beside him. 

“Thanks.”

Zim ignored him, hissing at Trudy as she hopped in place, clutching her shin. “This one is _mine_. Don’t grab at him.”

“Um, I’m not _yours_ —”

“Shut up.”

“Sir, we’ve been waiting so long for you to return. You left without any signs,” Trudy said, moving closer, looking more desperate. 

Zim bared his teeth at her and she stopped short. Dib could see the sweat starting to bead on her forehead. Patrons were avoiding the three entirely, moving around them. Dib set his hand on Zim’s shoulder and pulled him back. 

“We’re leaving,” he said. 

Zim growled as he pulled him away. Once Trudy was lost in the crowd, Zim finally turned back around. Dib kept their arms locked and tried to find a stall that could sufficiently distract Zim. He could still feel how prickly Zim was under his hoodie. Dib tried to ignore it. He didn’t know how else to get Zim to calm down other than distraction that didn’t involve violence.

He had one idea pop into his head first. “So, “follower”, huh? When did you get a cult?”

“Irk, don’t say that, it makes it real,” Zim groaned, pushing him along. The obvious irritation was still present—Dib would prefer Zim didn’t lash out at anyone who looked at him weird—and science seemed the best distraction at his disposal.

Dib stopped them at another stand about engineering plant genes—from things as mundane as flowers to food. Zim looked over the table, seemingly ignoring it for a moment before he started to pick up the pamphlets again. Dib breathed a sigh of relief.

Zim picked up a pamphlet as he stuffed another in his pocket and tried to ignore the eyes he felt on his back. His antennae flicked invisibly in the direction of a certain conversation.

“—e’s interested in Earth plants?”

“I think so—”

“Makes sense to me, he’s visited two stands now—”

Zim gripped the pamphlet harder, his claws breaking through the back even as his holographic nails appeared normal. He felt aggravation pressing in on multiple angles the more seconds ticked by. Firstly, the thought that these humans had the audacity to spy on him was insulting. In his opinion, Dib was the only one with the right. That was typical of rivals—Zim had certainly done his fair share of spying on the boy, after all. Secondly, to speculate at all his intentions was insulting. Thirdly, _the stares_. Zim could feel the prickly feeling racing across his skin already. He tried to focus on the pamphlets, giving Dib a clipped response whenever the boy asked him a question. It appeared Dib assumed he was distracted—a thought that rang in his favor.

Zim’s antennae flicked, picking up four distinct patterns of steps lending towards someone trying to hide and spy. Three to his right, past Dib, and another behind them. Most of the group of fanatics was likely still on the other side of the convention hall.

“Let’s move on,” Zim says, pulling Dib from the stand.

Dib picked up interest in one stand almost immediately, less then two stands away, and took not time before inspecting the diagrams of a satellite design. Zim let him get enraptured before he took an experimental step back. Dib didn’t seem to notice. Zim took a few more until he was separated from Dib by several other patrons.

He ducked an attempted hug from one member. The girl fell to the floor instead, tripping up a few more people and causing a small commotion. Zim took the distraction to move further in the crowd. He shoved two more believers out of his way. None of them had the face he was looking for. Finally, after searching the crowd for minutes on end, he moved his attention towards the outskirts of the hall floor. Past the stands, were the pillars to the second floor were left unlit, he saw the UFO hat poking out from behind a stand’s top. Zim paused a moment, waiting for a taller human to pass in front of him before he quickly moved between two stands.

He could see Desmond craning his neck over the top of a stand, standing on a couple of boxes to see higher. Zim slipped behind the pillar nearest to him, reaching his arm around and snatching at Desmond’s sleeve to yank him back. His other hand covered the man’s mouth. He pulled him back to the wall, holding him there by the arm. Zim pressed a little harsher than necessary, just to make his point before he spoke.

“I advise you stop following the two of us. Now.”

Desmond stared at him, dumbfounded a moment, before he started to smile down at him. Zim could feel him bend forward to bow, but he held him in place.

“ _Do you hear me?_ ” Zim asks, topping his question off with an angry hiss. Desmond shivered and Zim released his grip. Desmond dropped to the ground, collapsing to a bow immediately. Zim glowered down at him.

“It is you! Your voice is the same!” Desmond says, overjoyed.

Zim grimaced. Perhaps he should have modified his voice while he was at it.

“We are your loving servants, oh wise one!”

Zim groaned, pinching his brow. The devotion was… unexpected, to put it mildly. It was cult-like. Zim hadn’t had the words to describe it the first time around, but after some horror movie marathons he’d found the vocabulary. He didn’t quite like that he had left them as he had. But, they were too open about everything—too easily seen. For the beginnings of a following, they weren’t ideal. Zim had planned to conquer slowly and silently or in a bang—not in a SWAT team assaulting his base because of a cult. Still, he felt a coil of discomfort and unease at the thought of having left that line of possibility so many years ago.

Desmond came up on his knees, shuffling towards Zim, pleading. “Please, grace us with your wisdom! Grace us—!”

“Come near me and that boy again…” Zim began, glaring down at him, red eyes glowing in the low light of the small area they had moved to. “… _and I will dissect you_.”

Desmond paused. Zim wasn’t entirely sure if he’d heard him until Desmond stood and took a step back. Zim could hear shuffling feet as others left the area quickly. Zim sighed, stepping around Desmond. A thought struck his mind as he was about to rejoin the crowd past the stands. Having eyes on him for years—potentially decades—was the furthest thing from what he wanted. He turned back to Desmond.

“I’ll come for you when I’m ready to lead you. Wait. Understood?”

Desmond smiled wide, collapsing in another bow. “Yes! Of course!”

Zim nodded. “Good.”

He slipped past the stands, stepping back into the crowd effortlessly. He spotted Dib further away than when he’d left him. He was looking side to side, sweeping the crowd. Zim stepped up to him and bumped his shoulder. Dib stumbled a step and turned to him on a whirl.

“There you are! Where did you disappear to? I thought you got swept up by the crowd.”

“I did.”

Dib pouted at him, studying Zim’s face. He narrowed his eyes. “Oh? You’re sure about that?”

“Of course I’m sure, I am Zim.”

“…You just lied to me,” Dib says. Zim jerked, looking up at him in shock. Dib pouted down at him—damn his height—and crossed his arms. Zim sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping.

“I was handling an issue. It’s resolved. I didn’t maim or kill anyone, relax,” Zim grumbled.

“So long as you didn’t kick them I’m sure they’ll survive,” Dib teased, draping his arm around Zim’s shoulder. “Do you want to see any other stands while we’re here? There’s an ice cream stand on the second floor.”

Zim’s eyes lit up immediately. “Chocolate chip.”

“I’m sure they have it.”

~*~

Dib parked the truck, almost shutting it off before he heard Zim open the side door and slam it shut just as quickly. Dib jerked the key, cutting the engine, and diving out the driver’s side door. Zim was already at his base’s door and had a wicked smile on his face.

“Hey! No! No fair!” Dib shouted, sprinting around the truck.

“Gir! “Mary” came to play,” Zim shouted over his shoulder. 

He stepped inside, holding the door open. Dib skid to a stop on the sidewalk. Gir came rocketing out of the base with a gleeful screech. Dib tried to duck only for Gir to dive down onto him. Both were sent rolling back to his truck. Dib’s back hit the siding with Gir hanging off his neck. The robot was giggling evilly, swinging from side to side. Dib shook his head out, regretting doing so with the pounding headache that came afterward, and looked up at Zim. The Irken smirked at him before slamming the door shut. Dib gasped, scrambling up. He tripped at least once trying to get to the door as Gir climbed over his body. Dib pounded on the door.

“Hey! Let me in!”

“No.” Zim’s voice carried out through the door. Dib pouted. Gir swung on his leg, almost toppling him.

“Gah!” Dib steadied himself with the doorknob. He leaned on the wood. “But I wanted to hang out!”

“Go home, Dib-stink. Or play with Gir, either works for me,” Zim calls back, pushing off the door and to the elevator. He ignored Dib whining at the door as he sank below to the lab.

Zim pulled out the pamphlets, thumbing through them. He stepped off the elevator when he heard the ding. He found the rockets pamphlet and paused, pulling it out to set at the front. A feeling of warmth spread through him. He looked over it for a long moment before turning into his primary lab. Two metallic arms dropped from the ceiling, taking his PAK off and setting it on the nearest table. Zim grunted when the spare cables set into his back. He stopped at the main monitor, setting the pamphlet carefully beside the monitor. He propped it up against the wall, messing with how visible it was until the computer beeped at him. Zim sighed, waiting for another blissful moment, before turning his gaze to the screen instead.

**39% CORRUPTION**

Zim sucked in a breath between his teeth. The hiss was the loudest noise he could hear at the moment, filling his head until he harshly stood. The chair knocked back to the floor with a loud clatter. The PAK was back in place before he had fully stepped out of the room.

Zim opened several of the pamphlets, his PAK’s retractable arms holding a few open for him as he held them up. Genetic engineering, modifications, synthesizing nutrients—he was pouring over all the information. He would need proper ingredients to effectively synthesize Irken food, however. He thought a moment, his PAK supplying a few bulk order shops he could get most of them from.

He stopped at the elevator, taking it up one level to the largely empty space he hadn’t yet figured out a designation for. He looked around the area at the walling he could knock down without compromising the structure. It theoretically left him a sizeable about of base to work with. Transporting the proper types of soils would take the longest at the start. 

“Computer compile the compound make up of Irken soil,” Zim says.

“Whatever.”

“And the snacks in storage.”

“…Sure.”

Zim’s antennae twitched. There was the barest hint of sarcasm in the Computer’s tone. Zim ignored it in favor of compositing seed make up. He paused at the back of the floor. Strawberries sounded like a great idea.


End file.
